Harry Potter: Healing Hands
by Oruma Yar
Summary: Harry, indignant over Remus Lupin's resignation at the end of his third year, has an epiphany-and channel his "saving-people-thing" differently. He wants to become a Healer.   Ch-19 Confrontations
1. An epiphany

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter-01: An epiphany

"_What—what happened?" Ron groaned. "Harry? Why are we in here? Where's Sirius? Where's Lupin? What's going on?"_

_Harry and Hermione looked at each other._

"_You explain," said Harry, helping himself to some more chocolate._

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Despite the adventure and excitement of the previous night, Harry found himself awake early in the morning. Sunlight poured through the windows, but there was a shadow over his upper body. With a start, he realized that someone was standing at his bedside, reaching at the wall over his head.

"You're awake early, Mr. Potter. Did I wake you? I expected you to be asleep for a couple more hours." The figure said as it—she, judging from the voice—handed Harry his glasses. That could only mean one person.

"Good morning Madam Pomfrey." He muttered, wondering idly if the school nurse slept at all; she seemed to be on duty all the time. Come to think of it, while he had seen student volunteers around the hospital wing, he hadn't ever seen another healer or nurse. Was Madam Pomfrey the sole professional healer at Hogwarts, responsible for the health and well-being of the entire school? How did she do it? Was she using a Time-Turner like Hermione, or something?

Harry sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes. He was still tired but did not feel like sleeping anymore. He didn't know how this was possible—there must be magic involved, he decided—but the beds in the hospital wing were even more uncomfortable than his old mattress under the cupboard. He turned back at the matron, who was looking at him with a rather unusual expression on her face. Harry suddenly realized where he'd normally see that particular look: whenever Hermione was planning "extra-curriculum activities" for the three of them. Harry glared at Madam Pomfrey suspiciously. "What?"

The witch was unable to keep up her usual, professional mask, and gave him a faint, mischievous smile. She put up a couple of silencing charms around Ron's and Hermione's beds, ensuring they wouldn't be disturbed by their conversation, before she spoke up.

"Do you know, Mr. Potter, this is the twentieth time you come to visit the hospital wing? You've been here so often and so long, you are on pace to break the record set by your father and his friends before your fifth year!" The mention of his father and friends—the Marauders—put a wide grin on Harry's face. "In order to commiserate such marvellous achievement, I have decided to dedicate this bed to your personal use."

Madam Pomfrey summoned a package from her office and gave it to Harry. Eyebrows raised, he tore it open and found a bronze plaque bearing his name and a list of dates. He recognized some of them: there was the day when he confronted Voldemort and his puppet Quirrell; that Quidditch game in second year when Lockhart Vanished all the bones in his arm; the afternoon at the end of second year, after the euphoria of rescuing Ginny and defeating the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets dissipated, that he reported to the nurse for much needed treatment; there was even his brief stay from the Dementor attack during their first Quidditch game early in the school year. He looked up at the matron, the grin long since vanished from his face.

"I wish I can say you are merely a clumsy student in a magical school, and that Quidditch is so dangerous it should be banned." Her dislike for Quidditch and its risks was well known to the school. "But as you might have noticed, a lot of your frequent visits involved dangers from… shall we say extra-curricular and rather life-threatening events. Trouble seems to follow you, Mr. Potter."

Harry was touched by the words from the school nurse. It was the witch, the real person beneath _Madam Pomfrey, School Nurse_ that's voicing her genuine concern. He forced himself to smile and said, in a casual tone, "What can I say? It is a gift. I am the Boy-Who-Lived, you know."

His Lockhart-impression was rewarded with an evil glare. "You have no idea how much the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall worry about you. And for that matter, so do I." Harry lowered his head, embarrassed by her sentiment. "You have to take better care of yourself, Mr. Potter."

Harry was suddenly very interested in the plaque, tracing his finger on dates that indicate briefer stays. He couldn't recall those occasions, however. "What are these supposed to be?" He asked.

Madam Pomfrey took a look and replied after a moment. "Minor injuries from your lessons, which did not warrant overnight stays. Although I have to say, you seemed to have more Potions-related injuries than any other student in your year, save Mr. Longbottom. I was _this_ close to dedicating a bed for his personal use, right next to yours."

Harry and Neville were the favourite targets of Severus Snape, their malevolent Potions instructor, as well as their Slytherin classmates. While Harry was often flanked by Ron, Neville had to fend for himself, especially this year as Hermione was so distracted by her Time-Turner-assisted lessons. And why did Snape pick on Neville so incessantly? Harry realized that he resembled his father James, and that James Potter and Snape were bitter enemies in school, which contributed to Snape's enmity towards him; but what had Neville ever done to warrant such animosity? Harry filed this thought away for later investigation, as another idea occurred to him.

"I wonder if you can teach me some basic healing charms, Madam Pomfrey, or perhaps show me some common healing potions that I can keep on my person? That way I can take better care of myself and not bother you as often. Unless, of course, for social visits." Harry knew that some students, interested in careers in Healing or Potions, would train under the school nurse, though that was limited to sixth- and seventh-year students. Penelope Clearwater, Percy's girlfriend, had been one of the selected few and explained this to him earlier in the year when he was recovering from the fall he suffered during the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch game.

He didn't dare get his hope up, but the matron seemed to take it under serious consideration. "That may be a good idea, Mr. Potter." She gave the young wizard a critical look.

"While I normally don't take on students before they take their OWLs, you do have a particular need for the healing arts, and your friends can benefit from having you around. However," her tone sharpened as she continued, "I have to first see your grades, as well as the number of applicants for next year. I will not give you preferential treatment just because you are The-Boy-Who-Lived, you know."

"Yes ma'am!" Harry mock-saluted, and both Healer and patient burst out laughing. He would never have believed it before today, but the school nurse was sharing a laugh with him. Even if he did not get to train under her, Harry resolved to make good his promise and pay her social visits next year.

"You were not injured from your ordeal last night, merely exhausted physically and magically. You have recovered nicely, and I see no further need to keep you here." Pomfrey checked her watch. "If you run, you can still make it to breakfast in the Great Hall."

Harry glanced at his sleeping friends, but before he could muster the words, his stomach answered rather loudly for him. The school nurse chuckled. "Go now, Mr. Potter!"

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

After a quick wash in the bathroom and grabbing his cloak, Harry hopped down the stairs in a surprisingly good mood. While Wormtail was still at large and Sirius still framed as an escaped mass-murderer, his godfather was at least free. Exams were over and Hermione would have a few days before winding herself up again for the results. Buckbeak's escape would have Hagrid in high spirits. Last but not the least, thanks to their performance in the Quidditch Cup the Gryffindors won the House Cup for the third year running. The sound of laughter penetrated the castle through open windows, as students poured into the fields enjoying the glorious weather. In the distance, a number of people were flying on brooms, probably playing a pick-up game of Quidditch. Harry wondered if Ron would wake up in time and they could join in too, but his thoughts were interrupted when he ran into a group of Hufflepuffs.

"…always know something's wrong with that man! Disappearing in the middle of every month…"

"…can't believe Dumbledore could be so irresponsible! I mean, it's a Dark creature…"

"…he seemed nice enough, though…"

"…that makes it—not he, _it_!—even more dangerous!"

His good mood evaporated quickly after that. With a sinking feeling, Harry hurried to the Gryffindor table. He could see students huddled together, discussing something urgently. He reached the first familiar face and fired off his question, already dreading the answer.

"What's going on Neville?"

He was correct in that he wouldn't like the answer, and he didn't. According to Neville, Snape told the Slytherins of his misadventure the previous night, and 'accidentally' told them that Professor Lupin was a werewolf. The Slytherins, naturally, spread it as quickly and widely as they could; letters were being sent to parents and the media before breakfast was even over.

Harry was so angry he could barely speak. His appetite had vanished as adrenaline rushed through his body. Neville was regarding him closely, worry clear in his eyes. "It's bad Harry, but if he resigns quickly he could prevent further uproars."

"Resign? Uproar? He did nothing wrong!" Harry retorted. Neville shook his head sadly.

"The way Snape told it, it was a very close call. Not to mention the way wizards look at werewolves." The pureblood wizard calmly explained things to his Muggle-raised classmate. "The stigma associated with lycanthropy was horrible—even though most werewolves were victims of attacks themselves. They were shunned by society, unable to find employment, often disowned, fell into poverty—"

"Then help them instead of persecuting them!" Harry said hotly, before remembering that it wasn't Neville's fault the way things were. He apologized immediately and rose from his seat. "I got to go Neville. I need to see Professor Lupin."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry approached the Defence professor's office with a heavy heart. The door was open, and Hagrid stepped out with the tank of Grindylow under his arm.

"Harry! Wha're yeh doin' here?" One look at the boy wizard's face and he understood. Hagrid sighed. "So yeh heard already. He's packin' now, o' course."

"I'm here to see him, to say goodbye. May I talk to Professor Lupin in private?" Harry asked. Hagrid nodded sympathetically, gave him a pat on the shoulder (which nearly sent him into the wall) and walked off.

"I saw you coming," said Lupin, gesturing at the Marauder's Map. "Although I have to admit, I don't expect to see you up so early."

Harry looked around the office. There were stacks of books surrounding Lupin's old, battered suitcase. While his name remained the word 'Professor' had vanished from its surface.

"You really are leaving." It wasn't a question. Lupin smiled wryly.

"This time tomorrow, owls will start arriving from parents—they will not want a werewolf teaching their children, Harry. And after last night, I see their point. I could have bitten any of you…"

"No offense Professor, but that's bollocks!" Harry cut him off. "You had taken every precaution—last night was under extraordinary circumstances—you have been so careful all year!"

"Even if I were careless just once, it's still once too much." Lupin replied gently. "It was a mistake and it must never happen again. And that's why I have to leave."

"Can't you talk to the Headmaster? Can't he do anything?"

Lupin shook his head with a sad smile.

"Professor Dumbledore must remain above this. He had come under fire when he first hired me, and I owed him far too much as it is."

"It's not your fault that you're a werewolf! It's just a… a monthly condition!"

Lupin actually chuckled. "Your father and Sirius used to call it my 'furry little problem'. People thought I had a badly behaved rabbit."

The joke calmed Harry somewhat, as Lupin put a stack of books into his suitcase. "Where will you go, Professor? Can I owl you?"

The older wizard closed his office door and cast a silencing charm before answering.

"I will be visiting my father in France, at least for the next two weeks." Here he dropped his voice. "I received a note this morning from Padfoot. He's on his way to the continent with the hippogriff; I'll rendezvous with him there. The Headmaster tasked him to track down the Rat, who he believes to be heading for Albania."

"I'll write both you and Sirius," Harry told the older man firmly. "Please write back and come back as soon as you can. I'll miss you."

"I promise, to both, on one condition." He smiled at his best friend's son. "Call me Remus... or Moony."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

With a heavy heart (and a rather empty stomach), Harry returned to the hospital wing. _Remus _had retrieved the Invisibility Cloak from the Shrieking Shack and returned it to Harry, along with the Marauder's Map.

"_I am no longer your teacher, so I don't feel guilty about giving you this back as well. It's no use to me, and I daresay you, Ron and Hermione will find uses for it." Ex-teacher and student—now friends— grinned at each other before sharing a hug, and said their goodbyes._

Ron and Hermione needed to know what happened; they would want to see the DADA professor one last time, too. Harry entered the hospital wing to find Ginny chatting animatedly with the now-awake Ron and Hermione. The girl blushed furiously at the sight of him, a brilliant red to match her hair.

"Harry!" Ron beamed as Hermione handed Harry a sandwich (which he accepted gratefully). "Where have you been all morning?"

Harry pulled over a chair and sat next to Ginny. The girl looked like she was ready to faint; Harry ignored her. "I was visiting Professor Lupin. He's resigned because his _furry little problem_ was out."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance, but neither of his friends reacted to this bit of news. Ron spoke up, an unusually grim expression on his face. "Ginny was just telling us."

"But it was so unfair! He didn't choose to be a werewolf! He shouldn't be treated like dirt for it!" Harry loved being a wizard but the many prejudices of the magical World were constant reminders that it had its share of problems too.

"Worse than dirt and as bad as Muggleborns," Hermione said with disgust. "You would have thought that, with its history, lycanthropy would be better understood and treated, but no. Wizards were just so happy to shun them and push them away, ignoring instead of trying to solve the problem."

Harry snorted. "And they wonder why werewolves go Dark, the bloody…"

"Language, Mr. Potter!" An older woman's voice interjected before Hermione could shout her own protests over Harry's swearing. Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office with a smoking goblet in one hand and her wand in the other.

"Drink this, Mr. Weasley. You're free to go with Mr. Potter and Miss Granger afterwards." She shoved the potion into the redhead boy's hands, before setting her eyes on Harry.

"I agree with you, Mr. Potter, that those inflicted with lycanthropy could be treated more humanely. But Healers across the centuries had tried to combat that condition. Do you know how much time and effort it took to perfect the Wolfsbane Potion? How difficult it was to simply study lycanthropy, with all the stigma and danger involved?"

Harry did not have the answer, but Hermione shot him a look and spoke up.

"We did look into it (Ron snorted and received an elbow in the ribs from Ginny), back when Professor Snape assigned that essay on werewolves. I couldn't help but wonder, though, whether the lack of progress was due to the practices of researchers. The tradition of apprenticeship for Potions Mastery was a really inefficient way to share knowledge and research."

"You'll have to change that system—and our society—from the ground up, then." Ron added his two Knuts to the discussion. He looked at his best friend, who had a distant look on his face. "What's up, mate?"

Harry was remembering Sirius's and Remus's tales of the Marauders. Of friends who learned a dangerous branch of magic so that they could help another friend, a brother in all but blood. But they never delved deeper, to get at the root of that problem, to offer a solution.

Harry was different from his father in this regard. He was more proactive, a warrior, a fighter.

He would fight this evil for the sake of his friend, and he would be willing to fight to the end, but he need to take that first step.

"Madam Pomfrey?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"What does it take to become a Healer?"

A/N: Events in this chapter take place on June 10th, 1994.


	2. The end of term

Disclaimer: I do not own Hermione Granger.

Chapter-02: The end of term

With the glorious weather and the end of exams, most students found themselves outside the castle, enjoying the last few days with their friends before summer break began. Harry Potter, however, had all but disappeared from public eyes in the past week. Only a handful of people knew that he was deep in the school library digging up tomes in the normal and restricted section, with a fervour that would give the most studious Ravenclaw (or Hermione) a run for their money.

"You're not thinking about reading them all, are you Harry?" Hermione asked him worriedly on the last day of term, when he was half an hour late for breakfast, bags under his eyes. "You can't do that even if you are using a Time-Turner!"

Ron rolled his eyes and answered in his friend's stead.

"Harry is not stupid, Hermione. He's just looking for reference books so that he could order them from Flourish and Blotts." He neglected to mention that he voiced the same question the previous night. His dorm-mates, however, remembered that exchange and especially Harry's answer rather vividly. Neville nearly choked on his omelette with laughter; Dean slapped his back while Seamus handed him a glass of pumpkin juice, which Neville accepted quickly. Harry was too busy keeping a straight face to help.

Hermione gave the five boys a suspicious look. "What I'm saying is that you shouldn't go overboard like this."

"Coming from the person who used a Time-Turner to take twelve classes." Ron retorted with a snort.

"Which means I know exactly what I'm talking about!" Hermione snapped. She told her best friends that she had returned the Time-Turner to McGonagall and dropped Muggle Studies; that way she could return to a normal timetable next year. "If you keep going like this, you'll burn yourself out, Harry!"

"Who are you, and what have you done to the real Hermione Granger?" Harry demanded, causing the rest of the boys to roar in laughter. Harry was actually more amused than annoyed; after all, he just made the bushy-haired witch chastised him for _studying too hard_. He finished the last of his eggs, picked up his bag and gave Hermione a quick one-armed hug. "Look, I'm almost done. I promise I'll join you all for picnic by the lake at noon."

Harry left for the school library before his friends could protest any further, although he could hear a collective groan from that end of the Gryffindor table. To be honest (to himself if no one else), part of his recent vigor had to do with the unease he felt over Pettigrew's escape, Professor Trelawney's prediction, and the lack of communications from both Sirius and Remus. Had Wormtail found his master yet? Where were the Marauders now? Could his godfather and ex-Professor stop him, or would they become the first victims of the Dark Lord? Harry perished that last thought immediately; he refused to even consider that possibility. Dumping his bag on his usual table, he dived into the rows of books again.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

They received their exam results after lunch. Hermione, naturally, passed every subject with flying colors (although Ron would tease her about Divination, at great personal risk) but both Harry and Ron did well enough. Harry was pleasantly surprised to find his DADA mark exceeding Hermione's; then again she did run out at the Boggart section of their practical exam. On the other hand, he barely scraped a passing grade in Potions. He suspected that Dumbledore intervened in to ensure Harry got a fair evaluation at the subject; Snape's dislike for him had climbed to a new height, a feat the young Gryffindor previously thought impossible. After escaping from Hermione's rants, Harry headed straight for the hospital wing.

"Mr. Potter!" The school nurse turned at the sound of running footsteps. The student's beaming face told her that he had one obstacle overcome.

"I've got the grades! I passed everything!" He practically shoved the piece of parchment into her hands. Pomfrey took it and scanned it thoroughly.

"Your grades in Charms, DADA, Herbology and Transfiguration are good, but you barely passed Potions. You'll have to work on that; Professor Snape demands an Outstanding before accepting students in his NEWT class." These five were required OWL and NEWT subjects for Healer training. Harry had spoken of his difficulty with Snape over the past week, when he had tea with the nurse; Pomfrey promptly promised to test him on the subject, to get a better grasp of Harry's abilities. Harry resolved to study harder at the subject; if nothing else, he would be able to show up that slimy git who called himself a professor.

"You are taking Care of Magical Creatures…while not a requirement, it will be useful to keep at it since you want to study lycanthropy." Harry voiced his idea to Pomfrey regarding the origin of lycanthropy as well. Instead of a magical illness, could it be a curse, born from animal transfiguration and blood magic? He was pleased to find that "lycanthropic curse" was, indeed, one of the more prominent modern theories. A basic knowledge on curses and curse-breaking would be much appreciated, nay necessary, if Harry chose to attack the problem in this angle.

"I have decided to drop Divination. While I believe there may be merits to it, it is more an art than a skill, and frankly I don't have the talents." Harry thought of Trelawney again, the prophecy coming to mind. Dumbledore said that it brought her true predictions up to _two_… so she had made another prediction before?

"I wonder if Sybill foresaw this." Pomfrey said dryly, and Harry pushed that last thought to the back of his mind. "Are you certain you want to take two new subjects in your fourth year?"

Harry had debated the merits of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes with his bushy-haired friend. Both are pre-requisites for curse-breaking. "Professor McGonagall suggested that I hire a private tutor and take one of the two in the summer. With Hermione's notes—she scored one hundred and twenty-two percent on the Runes final, by the way—I should be able to catch up."

"That's a good idea, really." Pomfrey wisely ignored the comment about Hermione. "Professor Babbling will be away from Britain for her summer break; you should talk to her, and soon, to see if she can recommend another instructor. I know for a fact, though, that Professor Vector is available and taking on students for summer class."

"Actually, I talked to her two days ago, and I've already signed up for that." Harry smiled. He had sent an owl to Gringotts the day before, inquiring about his account statement and made arrangements for the extra lessons. He looked at Pomfrey again and took a deep breath. "I think I will take Ancient Runes with the third years next year. For the rest of the summer…I want to study Introductory Medicine under you."

Pomfrey blinked. Harry was pleased to see that she didn't shoot down the idea immediately. He pulled from his bag a piece of parchment and handed it to her. It was a contract.

"You told me that you don't take on trainees until they have the necessary OWLs, and I know I won't have them for another two years. But what if I pay you to teach me, as a private instructor for summer class? You can teach me basic medical charms, potions…" he winced slightly at the idea, "…first-aid techniques, healing spells, and the like. You will be well compensated, of course."

Pomfrey's eyes darted to the number near the bottom of the document. "You do realize that your offer is nearly double my Hogwarts rates?"

"I take it you are satisfied?" Harry shrugged, unconcerned about the money. "I am trying to learn as much as I can, as quickly as possible. I want to catch up with your other trainees, in practice if not in grades, by September. I think it's worth it, and I do have the galleons."

"Then who am I to argue? I accept." Madam Pomfrey scanned the contract one more time. Not that it was necessary; she knew Harry Potter enough by now that she trusted him not to pull any underhanded tricks. She signed it, duplicated a copy, handed the original back and offered her hand. Harry shook it enthusiastically.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter."

"Thank _you_, Madam Pomfrey."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry was on his way back to Gryffindor tower after consulting Professor Babbling. The old witch advised him to take third-year Runes next year, instead of rushing through the course during summer; the introductory year was actually the most important, she told him, as it built the foundation for the upper level Runes. If his progress was deemed satisfactory, she would give him accelerated Runes courses the next summer so he could catch up with his OWL-class peers.

Harry was planning in his head the trip to Diagon Alley (to pick up the books he ordered, and probably a magical suitcase like Remus' to store them all) when someone called his name. The Headmaster exchanged a few more words with Professor McGonagall before leaving her office and approaching him.

"May I have a quick word with you, Harry?" He asked. Harry nodded, and Headmaster and student walked further down the corridor before Dumbledore began.

"Your Head of House was just telling me about your recent visits to the library. Really, Harry, you should not trick Professor Hagrid into signing all those permission slips." His tone was light and conversational, however.

"Trick, sir?" Harry said innocently. That much was true, after all; he didn't exactly lie to Hagrid about looking for books in the Restricted Section of the library. He just didn't tell him what books he was looking into.

The professor looked him in the eyes. Harry bowed his head. "I just want to read ahead, Sir. It never hurts to get a head start in your studies after all."

"Your goal is worthy and your efforts are commendable, but I agree with Miss Granger: you should not push yourself too hard at this stage. After all, you are merely thirteen."

"I'm turning fourteen in a month, Sir." Harry said stubbornly. McGonagall and Pomfrey might have discussed Harry with the Headmaster, but he had the impression that the older man obtained his information through some other means—and knew more than he reasonably should. Then again, Harry hadn't done anything wrong… exactly.

"You are worried about Pettigrew bringing back Voldemort." Dumbledore cut in abruptly. After a brief discussion with Ron and Hermione, Harry had sought out the Headmaster in his office and told him Trelawney's prediction, the events on that fateful night, and their speculations.

"If he helps Voldemort back to power…"

"Then you have planted a seed in Voldemort's ranks, a potential ally among enemies. The time may come when you will be very glad you saved Pettigrew's life."

Harry barely bit back the first rebuttal that came to mind; it involved language quite inappropriate to use in front of his Headmaster.

"Just the same, it's time I get my acts together. My dad, Sirius, and _Pettigrew_ became Animagi when they were fifteen or at most, sixteen years old." Harry practically spat out the last name he was using as an example. "I'm not trying to become an Animagus, Sir—at least, not yet—I am just studying a bit more, a bit harder. I can do it, Sir. I owe it to them."

He didn't specify who he was referring to, but Dumbledore understood. He fixed the young Gryffindor with an intense, piercing stare, which Harry returned, willing the old wizard to see the sincerity in his eyes. A few seconds later Dumbledore turned away, but Harry could see the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

"In that case, I will not stand in your way." His eyes began to twinkle again. "Minerva told me that, in accordance with your new career goal, you have decided to take on courses in summer with Madam Pomfrey and Professor Vector."

"Yes Sir; I want to study Introductory Medicine and third-year Arithmancy."

"Have you decided on where to meet and study?"

"Madam Pomfrey has a cousin right here in Hogsmeade with his own private practice; I would most likely go there for my lessons. As for Professor Vector…"

"—actually, Harry, I was about to suggest that you have your lessons right here, in the school, during the summer."

Harry stared at Dumbledore, his mouth open.

"Professor Vector already requested to house her summer class here, and you just clinched the decision for me. Madam Pomfrey lives in Hogsmeade anyway; as for you, the Knight Bus should be of adequate enough service. And of course, since you will be at school, you can freely practice your new magical skills. So… Harry? Just nod."

Harry nodded.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry found Ron, along with the other boys of their year, in their dormitory doing some last minute packing. He broke the news to Ron immediately.

"You are getting WHAT?" Ron was aghast. While he was as supportive of Harry as ever, the redhead was horrified that his best friend would pay to study more during the summer holidays. He reached over to Dean Thomas and seized his arm, frantic. "Is this something to do with Muggle-raised people? Please tell me you don't go to summer school, too!"

"Actually, I _do_ take summer courses in creative arts." The dark-skinned boy grinned. "And Seamus' mum enrolled him in mathematic courses."

Neville piped up, unhelpfully, "I go to Professor Sprout's Herbology Club meetings twice a week during summer."

Ron recoiled in horror, and replied in a high-pitched voice. "Merlin's pants! Have you all contracted Hermionitis or something?"

"Yes and you're next, Mr. Weasley!" Harry grabbed him by his shoulder and deadpanned. "We shall turn you into the second coming of Percy!"

Hermione, thankfully, had a more positive reaction.

"I'm so glad you are taking Arithmancy and Runes! We can study together next year!" The bushy-haired witch exclaimed. She had finished packing the day before and was chatting with Ginny in the common room when Harry told her the news and Ron's reaction. After setting Ginny and Crookshanks on Ron for the Hermionitis comment (Harry could hear the screams, muffled as they were), she returned from the girls' dorm with her Arithmancy notes, followed by a grumpy-looking Ron. Harry grunted as the pile landed in his lap; it was nearly as heavy as a textbook. "These should help your studies, although you may have trouble reading my shorthand. Would you like my Runes notes too? I'm going to review it over the summer, but I can duplicate a copy for you. In fact, why don't I—"

"—stop right there." Harry interjected, grabbing the witch's arm before she ran off again. He appreciated the gesture, really, but Hermione could be too enthusiastic at times. "I have enough on my plate already, Hermione, and frankly I don't have your brains."

"Overkill, mate!" Ron groaned. He was spotting a number of scratches and a black eye after his little skirmish with Hermione's minions. Hermione stuck her tongue out at him.

"Say, Ron, don't you know any spells that can help with those?" Harry asked, wondering idly about treatments to the wounds. Madam Pomfrey had given him a booklist, but he decided against having the ordered books delivered to him via owl post; he knew the Dursleys would not appreciate seeing the birds. He would pick up his purchases at Diagon Alley in two days instead. Before he could answer, however, the Weasley twins appeared and each put an arm around their youngest brother's shoulder.

"Spells aren't the best option, actually."

"Those would be better treated with potions."

"We should have a salve somewhere—"

"Ah, here it is."

Ron took the ointment cautiously. Every Gryffindor knew better to check before accepting anything from the twins; it's a matter of self-preservation.

"So what _did _you do, ickle Ronnie-kins?"

"Although you're lucky Ginny didn't have her wand."

"I don't know where she learned it, but her Bat Bogey Hex is really something to behold."

"By Merlin, yes, brother-of-mine." Both twins shuddered.

After Harry recounted the earlier conversations, the twins gave him a calculated look.

"You should've talked to us first, Harry. Mum can teach you all sorts of household spells."

"But he won't be able to practice over the summer." Hermione pointed out.

"True."

"We have some books you may like, though, on common healing potions and how to brew them."

"We know them all by heart, and in fact improved upon some of them."

"We can sell them—both the books and the potions—to you cheap, if you like."

Harry raised an eyebrow, but Ron was faster. "You two are up to something." He eyed his brothers suspiciously.

The twins exchanged a glance. One shrugged and the other said, "We are just trying to raise capital."

"What capital?"

"Shush, little brother."

"Nothing illegal and let's leave it at that."

If anything, Ron looked even more worried.

"Besides, we won't try anything on our dear Seeker here."

"Wood pledged his allegiance to him for all times, or so I've heard."

"Name your price and let me check the merchandise first. If I am satisfied we have a deal." Harry told them.

The twins beamed at him.

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Harry knew he must be grinning like an idiot, as he, Ron and Hermione pulled their trunks onto the Hogwarts Express, but he couldn't care one way or the other. He got to study, yes, but it would be two subjects he was genuinely interested in, and he could do magic in the summer. He had a legitimate reason to stay away from the Dursleys (come to think of it, the Dursleys should be happy with this arrangement, too); and he had just received an invitation to stay with the Weasleys sometime in the summer.

"England is housing the Quidditch World Cup this summer! How about it, Harry? Come and stay, and we'll go and see it! Dad can usually get tickets from work. Oh, and you too, of course, Hermione."

But the icing on the cake arrived on tiny wings, late in the afternoon, after they had a big lunch and played a few rounds of Exploding Snap.

"Harry, look!" Hermione said suddenly, pointing to a shape outside his window. "What's _that_?"

_That_ turned out to be a very small grey owl, carrying a letter that was much too big for it. Harry snatched the letter from the owl, which turned and began to zoom around the compartment, hooting happily. Hedwig barked disapprovingly, as if chastising the excitable little owl, while Crookshanks followed the owl's flight with wide, unblinking eyes.

"It's addressed to me! It's from Remus!" Harry ripped open the letter as Ron and Hermione rushed to his side. There were three pieces of parchment in the envelope. Harry unfolded the first one.

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope this finds you in good health. I have picked up the Dog and his new pet, and they are both recovering nicely from their ordeal. By the time you read this we are no longer in France but further south, tracking a certain rodent and hopefully finding him soon._

_Minerva wrote me about your summer plans. I must say I am heartened by your motivation. You are truly your father's son. _

_If ever you need to find us, send word. Address the letter to Moony or Padfoot; your owl will know the way._

_Remus_

_P.S. The Dog and I attached something else for you for next year._

"A permission slip for Hogsmeade!" Harry punched the air happily as his friends beamed at him. He put it in his pocket, however, and turned to the last piece of parchment, which was written in a shaky hand.

_Dear Harry,_

_Buckbeak and I are in hiding. I don't know what Moony wrote to you, but we are doing well. In fact, I am planning for some Muggles to spot me soon, to give them the impression that I'm leaving Britain—if the Ministry takes the bait then things would be easier for all of us._

_There is something I never got around to tell you during our brief meeting. It was I who sent you the Firebolt _("I told you so!" Hermione said triumphantly)_—please consider it as thirteen birthdays' worth of presents from your godfather._

_There are so many things I want to tell you, Harry. I promise to return and see you soon—once we exterminate the Vermin._

_I'll write again soon._

_Sirius_

_P.S. As I lost him his rat, perhaps your friend Ron might like to keep this owl?_

Ron gave the tiny owl a critical look, then turn to Crookshanks.

"What d'you reckon?" He asked the cat. "Definitely an owl?"

Crookshanks purred.

"That's good enough for me." Ron said happily. "He's mine."

Harry put the letters in his safest and innermost pocket as the train arrived at King's Cross Station. He was not risking his newest treasures for anything. He waved to Cedric Diggory, who was holding the hand of a little blond girl with wide silvery eyes, Cho Chang, who was speaking to her mother in Chinese, and Neville, who was chasing after Trevor again, the toad making yet another bid for freedom. Harry, Ron and Hermione met up with the rest of the Weasley children and exited the barrier of platform nine and three-quarters together. The Weasleys and Grangers were talking amicably while Uncle Vernon eyed them with suspicion. When the students greeted their parents he began to change to a deep shade of purple, his fears confirmed.

"I'll call about the World Cup!" Ron told Harry and Hermione as they said their goodbyes. Uncle Vernon grunted and gestured at Harry, who wheeled the trolley with his trunk and Hedwig's cage after him.

"What's that about?" Uncle Vernon demanded.

"All in good time," said Harry cheerfully. "I have quite a bit of news to tell you and Aunt Petunia. Remember that escaped mass murderer from last summer…?"

A/N: Events in this chapter take place between June 17th and 18th, 1994.


	3. Summer at Hogwarts

Disclaimer: I do not own Ron Weasley.

Chapter-03: Summer at Hogwarts

A boy—correction, as his fourteenth birthday was fast approaching—a young man walked along Magnolia Road with a spring in his steps. He was in a rather cheerful mood; in fact, he was trying (unsuccessfully) to whistle. He had been shopping in London all day today, and while he had to go without his friends the trip was still very enjoyable. He fished for a donut from one of the many bags he was carrying; he had not had one for ages. He closed his eyes as he savoured the taste. After a long while, he sighed contently and walked on. He would have to hide the food somehow; it would be difficult, but he couldn't be expected to follow that stupid diet regime, now, could he? He scowled at the thought. _He_ was perfectly healthy!

He turned into Magnolia Crescent and froze when he saw the bane of his existence fast approaching. He gritted his teeth.

"Hello cousin." The other boy greeted him with an unpleasant grin on his face. He was carrying a rucksack and several large bags; he too seemed to have gone on a shopping spree—or maybe a crime spree?—earlier. The young man simply gave him a wary nod, and the two walked together in silence.

His cousin peeked at his bags. The young man growled. "What are you looking at?"

"I'm just curious, _dear cousin_. I would like a donut too."

He gave the other boy his Evil Eye, which didn't seem to work too well. Somehow his stupid cousin refused to be intimidated.

"If I were you, I would finish them now. I doubt you can smuggle them into the house." The other boy smirked. "What I wouldn't give for a steak. Or some fish and chips."

"Shut up."

"How about some pie? I know you like pies." The other boy licked his lips in an exaggerated fashion. "I had some wonderful chicken pies for lunch today."

"I said shut up!" He roared, as the two boys turned into Privet Drive. One of the neighbourhood cats jumped and dart away, annoyed.

"You know, I can help you there. I go out every day; if I have a share, say, _half_, I am willing to bring in some food for you."

The nerve of him! "Sod off!"

His cousin sighed. "Your loss."

The young man had had enough. His bags of contrabands forgotten, he ran inside the house and found an alarmed Petunia Dursley.

"Mum!"

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Harry Potter looked around the dinner table and was met with three unhappy faces. Uncle Vernon stared at his now-empty plate sadly while Dudley prodded his dinner sulkily. Just as he predicted, Dudley's feeble attempt at smuggling food into the house failed miserably; his parents threw the entire bag out and threatened to reduce his pocket money, which in turn triggered another round of temper tantrums from his cousin. At the moment Aunt Petunia was saying soothing words to her son in a low voice. Harry returned his attention to his plate, picked up his dinner and inspected it critically, before taking a bite. He took another and before long it was gone.

"It is delicious, Aunt Petunia." Harry beamed at her, sincerity on his face—because it really was. While he had the smallest share of the food as usual, the quality was actually top notch. He smacked his licks in an exaggerated fashion. "May I have some more? Please?"

Before Aunt Petunia could find a proper reply, Dudley gave a loud sob and fled from the table. She ran after her son, while Uncle Vernon turned to Harry—who had already taken Dudley's share of grapefruit and cut it in half. He offered one slice to the older man as he shoved the other in his mouth. "Want some?"

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_Dear Hermione,_

_Day 3 of Dudley's diet regime was wonderful. Aunt Petunia really knew how to pick her grapefruits, and I had extra helpings when Dudley abandoned his (I have to share with Uncle Vernon, but it was still much more than I normally have). I really have to ask my Aunt how she chose them. _

_Yes, really, Ron sent Chocolate Frogs. Those were great, but I can't subsist on them! I am thankful for the bacon, however; Hedwig loved them. As for myself…I stocked up on food (both Muggle and magical) yesterday when I went shopping in London. I think I saw Katie Bell in one of the malls. She didn't see me, though. It was weird shopping for clothes; I don't know why but the clerks had this hungry look in their eyes, it was unnerving._

_I have nearly finished __The Household Healing Handbook__. The spells are quite simple, actually, though I'm not surprised; they are designed to be easy-to-use charms, so that in case of emergency even the kids can do them. I'm _sure_ you will get through them faster than I did, and yes, I will send you the book, so just calm down, alright?_

_Nothing new from the Canines, but I'll keep you informed if anything come up._

_Regards,_

_Harry_

_22__nd__ June, 1994_

_P.S. You really should've got yourself an owl, you know. Hedwig's not complaining, but I don't want her overworked like this. And you can send your parents letters, too. I'm sure they'll be thrilled to hear from you during the school year._

_P.P.S. Well, maybe not the more exciting bits of our adventures._

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry stopped at the entrance to the living room and took a deep breath.

_Show time,_ he told himself.

"Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia? I need to talk to you."

The two adults turned from the television and eyed him wearily. Harry was secretly glad that Dudley had another tantrum over dinner and was now brooding in his room; two Dursleys were two Dursleys too much.

"What is it, boy?" Uncle Vernon barked, but it was a dispirited one. The diet was not helping Dudley—at least, not yet—but it had already taken its toll on the rest of the family. Pushing that thought aside, Harry pulled out a piece of parchment.

"I am going to summer school but I need your permission." He announced.

"No." Uncle Vernon said immediately. It was an unofficial rule in the Dursley household: anything that could make Harry Potter happy was actively discouraged.

"Wait, Vernon." Aunt Petunia was slightly quicker on the uptake. While it might break years of tradition, this summer school thing could keep her nephew out of the house for most of the day. Vernon was normally away at work, so he couldn't possibly appreciate this as much as his stay-at-home wife. She snatched the parchment out of Harry's hands and began reading it.

"At your nuthouse of a school, eh, boy?" Uncle Vernon sneered at him, his moustache bristling.

"It's at Hogwarts, yes." Harry replied coolly. His relatives flinched at the name but Harry ignored it. "Don't worry, the tuition is covered and transportation has already been arranged. Except for Sundays, I will be gone early in the morning and won't be back before six (Aunt Petunia brightened visibly at this). You just have to put up with me at night, and aside from dinner I will be in my room. You'll be happy, and while you may not like it, I'll be happy too. Really, it is a win-win situation."

Harry could see the conflicting emotions on Uncle Vernon's face. He decided to egg him on with some extra incentive. "A friend of mine is also inviting me to a sports event in late August. If you agree to my summer studies, I will accept the invitation and be out of the house ten days earlier. Really, between that and my summer school, you'll hardly even notice me in the house."

Aunt Petunia spoke up before her husband could respond. "I think it is a marvellous idea, Vernon."

Reluctantly, Uncle Vernon nodded, his wife's endorsement clinching it for him at last. Harry took back the parchment after the two signed the form (grumbling about antique stationeries and barbaric customs all the way), and made a quick escape. He had a job for Hedwig.

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_To my so-called best mate,_

_I just asked my uncle and aunt and they agreed! I'm going to spend my summer at Hogwarts (for most of the day anyway)! YES!_

_Really, it wasn't that difficult, I just told them that this way I'll be out of their hair for most of the day. I also told them that if they agree, I'll accept your invite to the Quidditch World Cup and leave in mid-August, ten days before the end of summer break. Don't worry; I am coming either way, I just word it differently to convince them. Do you really think I'll miss the World Cup for anything?_

_And be careful what you told the twins! I DO NOT miss the explosions! If anything happens I WILL hex you to next week, and you better hope that Hermione know some Muggle medical remedies, because you'll need all the help you can get when I'm finished with you! _

_I received a letter from the Wolf and Dog Traveling Circus yesterday. They crossed the border into Albania, but they had some trouble at the customs because of the Wolf's furry little problem—apparently the Ministry there is even worse than the British one, and the Wolf was ranting about 'bloody bureaucratic gits' and the like. The Dog said it had joined his new collection of Patronus-memories; he is relearning the Charm and can use some good memories. He is doing much better, now, and really appreciated the chocolate frogs. He regretted the fact that there is no __Memoir of a Marauder__, or at least not yet. The Wolf is thinking about it now, though, and thanked you for the idea. He promised a free and autographed copy for you when it's published. _

_I'm lying low for now, counting off the days until the First of July. Come visit some time (socially, please)! We can have lunch in Hogsmeade. _

_Regards,_

_Healer/Marauder Wannabe_

_June 25__th__, 1994_

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Harry stepped off the Knight Bus and was ready to kiss the ground under his feet—good, solid, reliable ground. Why they didn't nail the chairs and beds down (or put a simple sticking charm on them) was beyond him. He thought back to first year and decided that Hermione was right all along: Wizards really, totally failed in the common sense department. He was on the verge of tears when he remembered that he had to take the bus twice a day, six days a week, till his summer classes were over. The purple triple-decker disappeared with a loud bang as Harry climbed to his feet. Slowly he made his way towards the front gate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Harry found his spirit lifting as he took in the view of his beloved school. He had never seen it in July; during the school year there was always the low buzz in the background, the sound of hundreds of students and whatever they were doing at the time (the explosions were proud contributions from the Weasley twins). Right now, though, it was eerily quiet. Even most of the teachers had left, gone to their summer residences or overseas for well-deserved vacations. Harry wondered idly if Hagrid was enjoying his trip to Greece, or perhaps more importantly, if anyone had warned the locals he was coming.

The hallways were very quiet, even the portraits seemed to be taking time off. A few reacted to his presence, however, and beamed at the passing student; he waved back and matched on. Having never taken Arithmancy before, he took a wrong turn before finally finding the right classroom. Professor Vector was already here, along with several other students.

Septima Vector was well known as a brilliant but really strict professor, on par with Professor Minerva McGonagall, the Gryffindor Head of House. Hermione told him that once you got to know her the Arithmancy instructor was really quite friendly, and willing to help if the student had real talent in the subject. On the other hand Alicia Spinnet, Harry's teammate from the Gryffindor quidditch team, told him that Vector would literally kick people out of her class if said students couldn't keep up in class. Harry hoped that he could rise to the challenge: it might not be a required OWL or NEWT for Healer studies, but Harry wanted to do well just the same.

He sat down next to a brunette he thought he recognized as a Hufflepuff in his year. The girl blushed slightly but returned his smile with one of her own. They did not get to exchange pleasantries, however, as Professor Vector spoke up.

"Arithmancy is a magical discipline that included predicting the future using numbers and numerology. It is a highly complex subject. At first glance it seems little different from simpler, Muggle mathematics, but there is great power hidden underneath. Learn to see the patterns, learn to manipulate the numbers, and you can uncover the deeper secrets of our world. I am Septima Vector. You may call me Professor, but I prefer to think of myself as your guide. Welcome to Arithmancy."

The professor paused before continuing.

"While most of you have begun your journeys already, we have one student who is just starting." Harry found himself the center of attention as everyone in the classroom shot him looks. Vector gave him a curt nod. "Don't be intimidated, Mr. Potter. Like I said, this is a journey; companions are always welcome."

The class was dismissed four hours later. The subject wasn't as difficult as he expected, although he thought he should credit Hermione's notes for it. There were plenty of theories and loads of calculations, of course, but there was also a rich history behind the subject. How Arithmancy first came to be, how it was related to the study of Feng Shui in ancient China, the contributions of the Middle East, how it differed from Muggle Mathematics, and the relationship between modern Arithmancy and the other branches of magic. It had mundane, everyday uses in Wizarding currencies, cooking, potions, as well as highly complex ones like spell-crafting and curse-breaking, among others.

All in all, Harry thought that these would make much more interesting History of Magic lessons than Goblin rebellions, and he liked the subject a lot more than he expected. That was until he received a mountain of homework, to be handed in next week.

He was sulking away when the brunette Hufflepuff, Susan Bones, called after him.

"I'm going to Hogsmeade for lunch," she said with a blush, "would you like to join me?"

Harry thought about the offer. He had actually arranged to have lunch in the Hogwarts kitchen every day, but he doubted anyone would care if he skipped it for any reason. Come to think of it, who should he talk to about it anyway?

"Sure," Harry replied brightly. "You pick the place, but I'm buying. No arguments."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

It turned out that Susan was taking fourth-year Arithmancy. She recognized most of their fellow students; some were also taking advance classes, who like Harry dropped an elective after third year but want to take the OWL of another with their peers; two others were re-taking the subject due to poor OWL results (Vector refused letting them back into the regular class). Harry briefly wondered why Hermione, bibliophile and oft-declared most brilliant witch of her generation, did not take advance courses and skip to the higher grades altogether. Susan chipped in, suggesting that Hermione was having more difficulty with the practical aspects of magic and spell-casting than she let on. Harry filed that question away for his next letter; for now he was just enjoying a wonderful lunch with a new friend. They parted ways with warm smiles on their faces.

Harry spent his afternoon with Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing. She had him demonstrate his potion skills and knowledge by brewing and identifying several potions. Harry, having anticipated this and reviewed beforehand, did well enough to satisfy the school nurse. Harry thought that the mere chance to show up the oily potions master was a great incentive, and briefly wondered if he should invite Neville as well—it would do wonders for him too.

"The knowledge of potions is an important aspect of medical magic, Mr. Potter, but not the most important one. Neither are Charms, nor spells. The most important quality of a Healer is the ability to think _and_ act, especially under pressure. You can't help anyone if you freeze up, physically or mentally, in a moment of crisis. You need the courage of a Gryffindor, the compassion of a Hufflepuff, the analytic mind of a Ravenclaw, as well as the composure of a Slytherin.

"However, given your exploits since first year, I doubt _that _would be a problem, Mr. Potter." She smiled at Harry, who blushed. She turned serious again. "What you need, Mr. Potter, is to take greater care of yourself. Remember this: a healer cannot help anyone if she or he is disabled. You must not take any stupid, unnecessary risks."

"I can't promise that! I am a Gryffindor!" Harry told the matron flippantly. "I vow, however, to take as few stupid, unnecessary risks as I can."

Pomfrey rolled her eyes.

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_To the Wandering Pack,_

_The first message is for Moony: please slap Padfoot's head for me. Repeatedly._

_The Dog should have his eyes checked if he could misread "a new friend" as "a new girlfriend", and have his ears examined if he hallucinate about wedding bells. Susan's aunt is the director of DMLE; push it any further and I just might leave her an anonymous tip about a certain fugitive!_

_Now that that's over with—summer class is as much as I expected. Having a new friend (That is F-R-I-E-N-D, Paddy) who can help out with your class work is great. I am managing Arithmancy alright I'd say, and Vector keeps things interesting. I learned yesterday that you can predict your animagus form using Arithmancy. Was that the way you did it all those years ago?_

_I divide my time with Pomfrey between studies in the hospital wing and training in the Healer office in Hogsmeade. Her cousin used to work for St. Mungo's, but decided to start a private practice in Hogsmeade instead. He deals mostly with diseases, dental magic (I owled her about it already, Hermione was mightily intrigued), minor accidents, and midwifery in the local area (is he still a "midwife" if he's a man? Or is it "mid-husband"?). Madam Pomfrey helped out there during summer time and I serve as her assistant. _

_One unexpected perk with the Healers is actually the chats during tea times, or any free time we have in the office. They read the _Daily Prophet_, the _Quibbler_ as well as several other Wizarding newspapers, and often discuss (rather heatedly, I might add) news and politics with me. They are appalled when I told them I have no idea what they're talking about; now they fill me with tidbits and traditions of life in the Wizarding World whenever we have tea. It's like I'm having a third summer course to contend with. _

_But enough about me. What's going on in the Eastern front? How's the vermin infestation? You _can_ tell me, you know, I promise not to tell even Ron and Hermione, if necessary._

_Please write back and come back soon. I miss you two._

_Love,_

_The Stay-at-home one_

_July 10__th__, 1994_

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"_Accio_ _pillow_!" Harry intoned, pointing his wand at his intended target. The pillow flew from its resting place four feet away and landed in his outstretched hand. He waved his wand again. "_Depulso_."

The pillow flew back the way it came, landing a few inches away from its original location. Harry huffed and raised his wand, preparing to try again.

"Should you really be playing with pillows now? I thought you have more important things to do?" Susan asked idly, looking up from her Arithmancy essay.

"I need time for my brain to unwind too, you know," Harry glanced sideways in her direction, which proved to be a mistake when the Summoned pillow slammed into his head. While the force wasn't great, the angle of impact was such that the pillow knocked his glasses off. Susan giggled as Harry, scowling, summoned his glasses from the floor. "And it's good exercise. The Summoning and Banishing Charms are dead useful."

The two fourth-year charms were among a list of general purpose spells Madam Pomfrey prepared for Harry. The Summoning Charm, for instance, could cut down the time needed to find the right potion or equipment during emergencies, and its opposite the Banishing Charm could send things where they're needed. It took Harry nearly two weeks to learn them, but now that he got the spells he began working on speed and precision. The work was repetitious, but Harry wasn't complaining; he was doing magic during summer. With a mischievous smile, he picked up the pillow and aimed it at Susan. "_Depulso_."

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Summer never seemed to fly by like this, Harry thought as he strode along Wisteria Walk one July afternoon. He gave a little wave to a cat, which looked suspiciously like a certain professor's animagus form if not for the color pattern. Harry attributed his high spirits to the fact that for the first time ever, he was enjoying his summer.

Every other day of class he would have lunch with Susan in Hogsmeade. Neville and Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff and Susan's best friend, would often join them as well; they were part of Professor Sprout's Herbology Club that met at the school greenhouse twice a week. Neville was articulate and quite enthusiastic when talking about plants, more animated than Harry had ever seen; Susan whispered to him later that Neville was raised by his grandmother and grew up around much older folks. He was very shy as a child and found solace in the garden. Harry related some of his own stories from the Gryffindor boy's dormitory. Susan was inspired, and told Harry a few days later that she received an owl with the information. The two began planning.

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"Over here, Neville! Hannah!" Susan greeted her friends at the entrance of the Three Broomsticks.

Susan and Harry normally got seats for their lunch meetings, as their Arithmancy class finished half an hour earlier than the Herbology Club meetings on Wednesdays. Neville looked around as they entered, but couldn't see Harry anywhere. Instead of their usual table, however, Susan led them to a private room. Neville walked in, and was greeted by beaming faces. He took a step back, stunned, but was stopped by a laughing Hannah.

"Surprise!" She said as she shoved the momentarily speechless boy into a chair. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Susan and Hannah began singing "Happy Birthday" as Hermione put a paper hat on his head. Slowly, Neville's face lit up.

Harry decided to add this to his growing collection of Patronus-memories.

A/N: Events in this chapter take place between June 19th and July 30th, 1994.


	4. Presents and Patroni

Disclaimer: I do not own Susan Bones.

Chapter-04: Presents and Patroni

August arrived on a good note for Harry. When he turned down a party of his own—they just had one for Neville the day before, after all—his friends turned their attention to birthday gifts. Which was why, when Harry woke up in the morning on the last day of July, he found himself buried with presents. Grinning ear-to-ear he tore into his gifts happily.

Ron sent him a large birthday cake but also an old book, succinctly named Curse-Breaking, which belonged to his eldest brother Bill. The gift was uncharacteristically insightful, Harry mused, as he was experiencing difficulties studying counter-cursing with Madam Pomfrey at the moment. Hermione sent him sugar-free snacks (her parents were dentists) and a Muggle book on first-aid techniques. These were delivered by a handsome grey owl, Troy; he was pleased that the young witch had taken his advice to heart and purchased her own owl. This was in fact Troy's first delivery. Susan bought him a book on advance Arithmancy, while Neville and Hannah gave him a book on medical and magical herbs. Harry sighed at all the books he was getting, and began to understand Professor Dumbledore a little better. He made a mental note to send the Headmaster a nice pair of socks for Christmas.

Fortunately, the adults he knew did not give him more books. Hagrid sent him a pair of arm guards and what looked like a chest plate; Harry supposed these were Quidditch equipment, but these seemed to be unusually tough even for the dangerous sport. Hagrid's present came with a note, detailing some of his (mis)adventures in Greece, and that he'd be back in Britain soon. Madam Pomfrey sent him a leather bag. It was no larger than his school bag, but had four times the capacity thanks to Wizarding space; it would serve as the basis of Harry's personal medical kit. He decided to stock four of the five compartments with various medical supplies and potions, and the last for his school supplies. It would replace his old school bag. The school nurse told him that she was satisfied with Harry's progress, and that if he kept up the good work he just might make the trainee program. Harry thought her note an even better gift.

Sirius and Remus' present were a training Snitch and a penknife that was enchanted to be able to pick locks and untie knots. The Snitch was an old one his father played with back in the day (even though he was a Chaser). The knife was one of their many useful toys early in their Marauder days. Their missive was rather brief, however, and the message dampened Harry's high spirits: they found that a man matching Pettigrew's description was seen a few days ago, but the two Marauders had lost track of him. They would keep looking, of course, and told Harry not to worry; the Rat was no match for either of them.

Nonetheless, Harry had difficulty sleeping for the next few days.

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Harry said his goodbyes to Susan at the front gate of Hogwarts, as she was meeting with her Aunt Amelia for lunch today. The grey-haired witch greeted Susan with a warm smile and a big hug; Harry found himself liking the square-jawed witch despite her serious personality and formidable reputation as the director of the DMLE. The older witch, in turn, seemed to eye Harry good naturedly, but also somewhat speculatively. Susan blushed for some reason.

"Come on, Auntie, let's go." The girl waved at Harry before walking off with Madam Bones. Harry couldn't help but wonder how nice it would be to have lunch with Sirius or Remus in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. For one glorious hour in June, he thought he could leave the Dursleys forever, to live with someone that actually wanted him, maybe even _loved_ him. Wiping his eyes quickly, Harry took off for Hogsmeade and forced himself to think of lunch.

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Harry's attention was at the Honeydukes' display window when he ran into someone.

"Sorry!" He apologized immediately and offered a hand to the fallen girl. It wasn't until he readjusted his glasses that he realized who it was. "Cho?"

It was indeed the very pretty Chinese girl, a Ravenclaw one year ahead of Harry and a fellow seeker in Quidditch. Harry swallowed hard as his heart seemed to go into overdrive.

She was wearing what appeared to be Muggle attire, a short-sleeved blouse with dark blue jeans that showed off her figure very well. Her hair was tied in a long ponytail. In short, she looked _stunning_.

Harry was brought back to the realm of the living when Cho Chang gratefully took his hand. He pulled the girl to her feet, and reluctantly let go of her small, soft hand. "I, err, I don't expect to, err, see you around Hogsmeade at this time of the year."

Mentally he berated himself. He sounded completely clueless. Then again, he _was_ clueless.

"I'm meeting a friend today, doing some shopping." The girl said, her blush matched Harry's own. She smiled timidly. "My mum bought a new broom for me, so hopefully I'll be a better match for you next year."

Harry seized the topic like a drowning man with a straw. "Really? That'd be great! I mean, I mean it'd be great to fly together! I've been taking summer classes and I fly around on my Firebolt after class. Would you like to try my broomstick sometime?"

He realized, a second later, what he just said. "Oh dear."

Fortunately, Cho was distracted by the appearance of another schoolmate. "Hi Cho, hello Harry."

It was Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff Quidditch team's Seeker and a student two years ahead of Harry. He was also the only Seeker to ever beat Harry in a game—even Oliver Wood, fanatic that he was, admitted that he won fairly, despite the fact that Harry was practically assaulted by Dementors at the time (and lost his old Nimbus Two Thousand in the process). The older boy looked curiously at the two of them. "…Did I interrupt something?"

Cho smiled while Harry flustered. "No, nothing at all!" He was pretty sure he squealed the words. He forced himself to calm down. "I, err, was just going to lunch when I ran into Cho here—"

"Literally," said Cho, still smiling. Harry saw an opening, and gathering his Gryffindor courage, shouted out the next words.

"Would you like to have lunch with me?"

Cho and Cedric exchanged a look, half surprised and half bemused.

"Sure," they voiced together.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Lunch turned out much better than Harry expected. Alright, he actually only asked Cho, but Cedric had always been friendly with him and his presence eased Harry's nervousness. They recounted their summer thus far, and told of their Quidditch experiences over the meal; Cho did not start flying or discover her talent in it until she began school, as her mother was often busy at work in the Ministry, and her Muggle father ran a chain of restaurants in Scotland (Cedric later told Harry that her parents were strained in their relationship, and Cho feared that they might divorce soon). Meanwhile, Cedric began flying as a child, but only played his first game in his second year after the starting seeker was injured. They both praised Harry's natural talent, but teased him because he always flew on superior brooms, first with the Nimbus then the Firebolt. All three complained about Slytherin's thuggish style and Malfoy getting on the team with his "donation" of Nimbus 2001 brooms.

"I still don't get it. You are the only Seeker I know that wear glasses—Muggle ones, not that it mattered either way—yet somehow you are also the best Seeker in the school." Cedric mused. Harry blushed profusely.

"That's not very impressive if you remember that I played a total of less seven games in my entire life." He countered. "You two are pretty good, too, and I'm sure there are other decent players in Gryffindor and Slytherin."

"I once played a pick-up game with Daphne Greengrass. She was quite good, actually." Cho said, taking a sip from her apple juice.

"With Malfoy around she'll probably never get to play a game." Cedric shook his head.

"Maybe that's a blessing in disguise?" Cho suggested, a smile adorning her face.

"I'd take real competition over that git Malfoy any day." Harry declared.

"Hear, hear," Cedric cheered, slamming his bottle of butterbeer against Harry's.

Cedric and Harry conspired to pay together when Cho left for the bathroom. They were unpleasantly surprised when they discovered Cho picking up the tab at the counter. The two wizards voiced their objections, to no avail.

"Men!" Cho rolled her eyes and muttered something about idiot boys and chauvinism. Cedric shrugged at Harry and the two shared a smile.

The Seekers next visited the local Quidditch equipment store. After a brief discussion with the clerk, Cho purchased a standard service kit for her new broom, while the boys drooled over the latest broom models (Cedric more so than Harry) and debated about the England National Team's chances. After that Cho whispered something in Cedric's ear, and the Hufflepuff dragged Harry next door, followed by the Ravenclaw, an amused look on her face.

"Your glasses looked like it was held together with _Reparo_ and spellotape. Something has to be done." Cedric announced as Harry found himself in a store covered wall to wall with various types of spectacles. Cho rang the bell and the old storekeeper shuffled to the counter. He greeted the youngsters sleepily.

"Yes? What can I do for you?"

Cho and Cedric pointed at Harry, who grinned nervously at the man.

It didn't turn out too badly, actually. The storekeeper was a Muggleborn, who studied optometry in a Muggle university but returned to serve the Wizarding World. After some examinations, the optometrist declared that Harry's current prescription was off.

"The lenses can be fixed easily," he said, taking out a case of lenses in all sizes and shapes. "But the frame was in pretty bad shape and worst of all, it's too small for your head."

"My head is not too big!" Harry protested weakly. Cho suppressed the urge to giggle.

"Not at all what I said, Mr. Potter." The optometrist gave him a peeved look. "Here, let me show you some frames…"

"Look at this one, Harry!" Cedric said, picking up a thin, gold-wired frame. He held it up to Harry's face and nodded. "Very slick."

Cho picked up another and read the description. "This one has a charm that keeps it from slipping." She looked at the style, however, and made a face. "It looked weird on you, though."

"How about these ones?" Harry turned around, and the two roared in laughter. The frame was star-shaped and looked simply ridiculous.

The Seekers spent fifteen minutes looking at the different frames. In the end it went full circle as Cho finally declared that the black, circular style fit Harry best, and they found a new pair with anti-slip charms. The new lenses were not spelled to be waterproof, however; Quidditch rules decreed that spectacles must not be pre-enchanted to aid vision in anyway.

Harry was studying his reflection and admiring his new glasses when Cho walked behind him. He turned to face her.

"I had a wonderful day today, and it's all thanks to you, Harry." She smiled at him warmly.

"Me too, Cho. I, err, had a great time." Harry sputtered. The new glasses must be working; the girl in front of him looked lovelier than he had ever seen. He struggled to find the right words. "Maybe we should do this some other time?"

Cho blushed, but Cedric came to her rescue (to Harry's slight annoyance). "All right Harry, let's go."

The Gryffindor gave him a look that turned from confusion, to understanding, to outrage.

"You did _not_ just pay for these!" He groaned as Cho beamed at Cedric.

"Maybe next time, Harry." The handsome Hufflepuff slapped his back. "I'll have you know, though, that my birthday's in two months."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

If the Dursleys noticed Harry's new glasses and clothes, they did not comment on them. In fact, the adult Dursleys had their attention focused entirely on Dudley. Aunt Petunia had caught him smuggling donuts into the house again; the huge row that followed woke up half their neighbours on Privet Drive. Harry stayed in his room throughout, working on his last Arithmancy essay. The exam was to be held in a week's time and Harry had a few questions that hopefully Hermione would explain when he went to the Burrow. Harry yawned and eyed his bed longingly. Ron told him that they're coming to pick him up on Sunday, which meant that he still had an entire day to finish the paper…

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

_Green light, sickly green light flew out of the wand, towards a horrified old man—_

Harry Potter woke with a start, his heart beating furiously. He forced himself to calm down and took deep, slow breaths. Touching the scar on his forehead gingerly, he suppressed the low moan that threatened to escape his lips. The old scar felt like it had been opened anew; it hurt worst than he had ever felt in his life.

Harry grabbed his new glasses with one hand and turned on his bedside light with the other. Reaching into his trunk, he pulled a bottle of water from his secret stash of food and drinks; he still had most of his stock left from his shopping trip at the beginning of summer break. He poured some of the cool water on a cloth and rubbed his scar, before downing the rest. Feeling marginally better, he opened the wardrobe and found himself staring at a black-haired boy.

Harry leaned in closer to the mirror, to examine the scar on his forehead. It looked inflamed. Harry pressed the wet cloth on it again, and sighed with relief. It was the mark of the Killing Curse, a curse so Dark that it should have killed him immediately. On the night that he lost his parents, thirteen years ago, that curse somehow failed. It rebounded on the Dark Lord who cast it, destroying him instead, and left behind an infant with a lightning-bolt shape scar—a scar that made Harry James Potter instantly recognizable in the Wizarding World.

Sometimes Harry wondered if he would be better off if it did its job. But he didn't think like that anymore, nowadays. Harry Potter's life really sucked at times, but he wouldn't trade his friendships with Ron, and Hermione, and Hagrid, and Remus and Sirius and so many others, for anything in the world.

And most importantly… his parents gave their lives so that he could live. He refused to throw their twice-given gift of life away.

Harry sat down at his desk and stared at his Arithmancy essay. He threw it on top of Madam Macmillan's Guide to Household Charms. It's due on Monday, but he was in no mood to work on it right now. He was trying to recall that horrible dream, the dream that ended with the eerily-familiar green light.

In the dream he was speaking with a man, a man he thought he could recognize, he should recognize. Then there was the snake, slithering towards him, and he talked with her, too…and then the Muggle. Harry spoke to the old man before turning in his chair—and the old man screamed. And then there was the green flash, and the flash—

—had come from Harry's wand.

It was a dream, Harry consoled himself. He did not just kill someone. He couldn't have just killed anyone, especially one who he was certain had never seen before.

But was it all a figment of his imagination? It was so _real_.

And then there was the fact that his scar hurt, as if it were on fire. As much as Harry wanted to think so, it was unlikely that the two events were unrelated.

He believed in coincidences. He just didn't _trust_ them.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

In the end, Harry decided not to alert Hermione or Ron about his strangely realistic dream. Instead, he would talk to Madam Pomfrey tomorrow at the office in Hogsmeade. Harry actually had the day off, as he was to pack in preparation for his return to the Burrow; Harry decided to do the packing now, as he was wide awake.

Harry was rather surprised when he entered the office the next morning. The school nurse was having tea with a visitor, which wasn't unusual; it was the identity of the visitor that was unexpected.

"Harry! This is a pleasant surprise." Albus Dumbledore greeted the young wizard joyously. Poppy Pomfrey summoned another cup and poured some tea. "As I recall, your training is in the afternoon.

_Recall?_ Harry raised a questioning eyebrow at Madam Pomfrey, who seemed to be suddenly very interested in her shoes. Realization dawned in Harry's mind.

A month and a half ago, Harry Potter might not have noticed, or understood, or cared about the Headmaster's slip-of-tongue. His studies of Arithmancy and Introductory Medicine, however, had taught him to pay more attention to details, to observe the subtleties. He was still an amateur, but he's learning fast.

So Dumbledore was paying attention to him, keeping an eye on him. Then again, the Headmaster was probably just concerned about his well-being. Harry was reminded of what Madam Pomfrey said, that trouble had a way of finding him. Harry held his tongue and pushed his darker thoughts away for now. In fact, given the circumstance that brought him here today, it might be a blessing in disguise.

"I come to see Madam Pomfrey today because I had a strange dream last night and my scar hurt." Harry told the adults. He proceeded to describe the dream as much as he could remember. The witch frowned, and for once the old wizard's eyes were not twinkling.

"You said you spoke with the man, then the snake, then another, older man." Dumbledore said slowly.

"Yes, but I don't recognize either man, I thought I should've the first but the second one, the old man, was a complete stranger." Harry replied, wondering if Dumbledore had discovered some vital clue.

"Do you remember what the conversations were about?" The Headmaster continued patiently.

"Not really; but I recall speaking with…disdain? Arrogance?" Harry searched for the right word.

"Do you recognize the language?" Dumbledore asked. Harry stared at him.

"English," whispered the young wizard. Madam Pomfrey gasped. "Both men I spoke with in my dream used English!"

Dumbledore's blue eyes were icily cold now. He stared at Harry intensely—but when he spoke, his tone was not unkind.

"I think it is time the—what do you call it, Harry? The Wolf and Dog Traveling Circus?—come home."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

After a few whispered words from the Headmaster, Madam Pomfrey left the room hurriedly, to give the two wizards some privacy. Nevertheless, Dumbledore erected several privacy wards before he spoke.

"I know that you stay at the school after class each day, practicing magic or flying your broom or studying in the library. I am very pleased that you are working hard but still enjoying your life. But know this, Harry—if what I suspect is true then you may be in greater danger since the fall of Voldemort thirteen years ago.

"I know you are going to the Weasley home soon. You should be safe there—they are capable witches and wizards, and they know they have to keep an eye out for you. You will also be safe at Hogwarts; I shall notify the ghosts and portraits and they will keep an eye out for you. But you must be alert when you are out, for you will have little protection then.

"You do remember that you had one count of underage magic in your file?" Harry nodded; the event with Dobby on his twelfth birthday was not something he'd forget anytime soon. "The wands of underage witches and wizards all have the Trace on them; that is how the Ministry keep track on underage magic. I will send them a message, to keep an eye on the spells you use. If ever you use a spell outside of Hogwarts' wards, they will be alerted and if the spell is one of combat use, they will know that you are in danger. They will send their Aurors—Magical Police, Harry—to find you immediately."

"I don't really know many useful Defence spells, sir," Harry told the older man, ashamed. "Aside from the Disarming Spell and the Patronus Charm."

"Then it may be prudent that you learn them." Dumbledore seemed to consider something. "Speaking of the Patronus Charm, Harry… how well can you perform it?"

"_Expecto Patronum_." Harry muttered the words and thought of Cho as she laughed at his star-shaped glasses. The silvery form of Prongs burst from his wand. The glowing stag strode leisurely around the room, staring curiously at the Headmaster before moving close to Harry. He reached out, as if to pat it, but the Patronus dissipated before his hand could touch it. He sighed.

"A corporeal Patronus at your age is a marvellous achievement, my boy." Dumbledore smiled at him warmly. "The next bit of magic is a recent development of my own, and quite ingenious if I may say so myself. Do you know that the Patronus can be used as a messenger?"

Harry shook his hand as Dumbledore continued. "It's true. In fact, given the uniqueness of Patronus forms and the speed they travel, it is a very useful and secure method of communication. I will teach you this now, but as this is a closely guarded secret I must ask you not to use it unless absolutely necessary."

The speaking Patronus, it turned out, used the same incantation as the standard charm. Being an intent-based spell, one needed to visualize not a location but the person receiving the message, then mutter into his or her wand the message itself, and then cast the charm. Its wand movement was the standard version plus an extra circle-and-jab motion at the end. Dumbledore demonstrated with his own phoenix Patronus; Harry couldn't quite get the hang of it, but after several attempts Prongs managed to say a few garbled words. Dumbledore simply told him to practice some more in his spare time; he had the basics down already.

It was nearly two in the afternoon when Professor and Student finished from their meeting. The Professor apologized to Madam Pomfrey and bade them both farewell. Harry called after him as he was about to leave.

"Thank you, Professor, for taking the time to teach me this. And thank you for watching out for me." He said in a clear voice.

The old wizard gave him a long look, which slowly turned into his patented twinkle-eyed smile. "Thank _you_, Harry, for thriving despite the adversity. As for the Charm…let's just call it a belated birthday present."

A/N: Events in this chapter take place between July 31st and August 23rd, 1994.


	5. A plethora of Weasleys

Disclaimer: I do not own Ginny Weasley.

Chapter-05: A plethora of Weasleys

It was nearly six o'clock when Harry returned to number four Privet Drive, and he found the adult Dursleys waiting for him in the living room.

"Boy! Come here!" Uncle Vernon said with a snarl; in other words, he was his usual self. Harry wondered what was going on as he wandered over to the couch. Aunt Petunia gave him a suspicious glance.

"Last month you mentioned something about a sports event." His mother's sister said grumpily.

"Yes. _Our kind_ of sports event." Harry replied, carefully avoiding one of the many words that drove his relative berserk; the two Dursleys paled just the same. "I thought we agreed that I can go? Or do you want me to stay _home_ for the next couple of days?"

Harry put extra emphasis on the word. If the Dursleys noticed, they did not show it.

"Someone called, said her name is Weasley. Said her dad and brothers will come pick you up tomorrow at five o'clock." Uncle Vernon managed with a growl.

_A female Weasley? Dad and brothers? That could only mean…_ "That's Ginny, the sister of a friend of mine." Harry answered as his brain leaped into action (speaking with Dursleys usually did not require its involvement). Thinking back at Ron's disastrous attempt to call him the previous year, Harry could only conclude that Hermione coached the youngest Weasley on how to use the telephone properly.

The mention of Ginny's name only furthered Aunt Petunia's sour expression. "She's not your… girlfriend, is she?"

Harry was at once amused and aghast. _Is this what they're worried about? Am I about to get The Talk?_ "No," he said firmly. She might be interested but Harry wasn't—at least, not at the present. Then again, who knew what might happen a few years down the road?

"Like I said, she's just the sister of a friend of mine. You've seen her before; she's the youngest girl in the group, freckles and red hair and all." He couldn't help himself for the next comment. "Although, now that you mention it… she's quite cute, don't you think?"

Uncle Vernon's face turned a brilliant purple.

"I will pack up everything tonight and be ready for them tomorrow. I will remind them to be discreet. In fact, why don't I send them a message now? I'll be in my room until dinner." Harry rose from his seat, and before his relatives could muster up a protest he sprang towards the stairs.

Harry entered his room with a sigh of relief. He was not remotely afraid of the Dursleys anymore, and he felt he could handle them much better now, but it was still not a pleasant experience. Again, he wondered what it was like with a normal, loving family, like the Weasleys or the Grangers…

—WHAM.

Harry was momentarily stunned as an object slammed into the side of his head. Snatching at what appeared to be a grey furry Snitch, Harry found a tiny, excited owl in his hand; it was no larger than a tennis ball. He quickly released the bird, which gave a merry hoot and flew towards Hedwig's cage for some water. His familiar glared at the tiny intruder, disapproval radiating from her eyes. Turning to his desk, he found a hastily scribbled note from Ron.

_Harry,_

_DAD'S GOT THE TICKETS! The Finals, Ireland vs. Bulgaria, on Monday night! Ginny has gone to the village to call your relatives, but I just want to give you a head's up, and give Pig something to do—_

Harry stared at the little owl zooming about the room. He had never seen something that looked less like a Pig. Meanwhile, Hedwig looked like she wanted to hide her head under her wings; out of embarrassment or annoyance he couldn't tell.

_I told Dad that you have taken the Knight Bus numerous times, but he said to tell you specifically __NOT__ to come by yourself. We will come and pick you up. Send a note back with Pig if you like; we're coming around 5 o'clock tomorrow._

_Hermione's just arrived—Ginny called her as well. The twins are their usual selves, blowing things up in their room every few minutes. Percy has started work at the Ministry. I'm not sure where, but he brought home such "news" the twins and I were bored out of our pants. __DO NOT__ ask him about work while you're here, for our sake if not yours._

_See you soon, _

_Ron_

Harry's heart flip-flopped at the warning about traveling. He was going to stay put anyway—what with finishing his essay and packing—but the reminder both comforted and alarmed him. He was pleased that Dumbledore believed his tale, but the fact that he put up security measures immediately meant that the Headmaster was really concerned. Harry reached for his wand unconsciously; the feel of his tool, his _weapon_, eased his mind—but only slightly.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The hours passed painfully slowly for Harry the next day. He had finished packing late last night, after completing his Arithmancy essay. He also sent Hedwig off, with a note to Sirius and Remus detailing his conversation with Dumbledore. The snowy owl nibbled his finger affectionately before flying into the night. Reflecting on it later, he felt he should have taken his time; now he had nothing to do but wait. He pulled out his and Hermione's notes and tried to concentrate, but the numbers and words seemed to wiggle, transforming into snakes, hissing, calling out at him…

Harry gasped and only realized then that he had actually dozed off. He stole a peek at the clock; it was nearly half past five now.

"They're late!" Uncle Vernon snarled from the next room.

"Well observed," Harry muttered under his breath. He fingered the wand in his pocket, more nervous than he cared to admit. What was keeping them?

_Crack._

Aunt Petunia screamed. Ignoring her, Harry whipped out his wand as the sound repeated twice. The unusual sounds reminded him of Dobby's unexpected visit two summers ago; his eyes went to the front window, as he tried to see who—or what—the perpetrators were this time. Harry was relieved when three redheaded men appeared, two of which he was quite familiar with. He threw open the door with a big smile.

"Hello Mr. Weasley! Hi Percy!" The Weasley patriarch returned the greeting with a grin of his own. Percy, the third-eldest child in the family, merely nodded; he continued to scan the quiet neighbourhood with cautious eyes. Harry studied the third redhead carefully: he had his long hair tied in a long ponytail, and what looked like a fang was dangling from his ear. Harry hazarded a guess. "Charlie?"

"William, actually. Please call me Bill." The man said, smiling, and offered his hand, as the word 'cool' popped up in Harry's head. He had always imagined the eldest Weasley son and former Head Boy as an older Percy, and while they did physically resemble each other Harry could see how much they differed as they stood side by side. Bill had a more relaxed stance and an easy smile, unlike his much more uptight younger brother.

"This really isn't the time for pleasantries; can we save it for later? Let's get out of here quickly." Percy said. Mr. Weasley frowned but turned to Harry. "If you bring down your trunk, Harry, I'll shrink it and get us going."

"Actually, it's just right here." Harry gestured. Bill walked in.

"I got it." He reappeared a moment later, patting his pocket. "Let's go Dad."

"Would you like to say goodbye to your family first, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked him.

The Dursleys were actually standing at the doorway, looking at them warily. Harry gave them a wave. "See you."

There was a long pause, as Mr. Weasley and Uncle Vernon stared at each other.

"Well?" The redheaded man turned to look at Aunt Petunia, then Dudley. "Your nephew is leaving and you won't see him until next summer. Aren't you going to say anything?"

"It's alright, Mr. Weasley, it really doesn't matter…" Harry attempted.

Percy and Bill stepped closer. Harry found that he was, in fact, being surrounded by Weasleys on all sides, as if in a defensive formation. Percy spoke up. "This really isn't the time, Father! Let's go already!"

"What he said." Bill concurred, giving the Dursleys a disdainful look.

"Very well." The Weasley patriarch glared at Harry's relatives once more, before turning towards Harry and gave him his hand. "What I'm going to do is called Side-Along-Apparation. Hold on tightly to my hand, Harry, and we will Apparate to the Burrow. It may be slightly discomforting, and there are certain risks, but it is nearly instantaneous. On a count of three… two… one…"

Three loud _Crack_s later, they were gone.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry had just had one of the strangest experiences in his life. He felt like he had been squeezed on all sides then spread out again. He readjusted his glasses, as they felt like they had been pushed into his eyes. He shook his head in a feeble attempt to clear away the odd sensation. He looked up and found himself at the entrance to the Weasley home, the Burrow.

"Felt like you've been squeezed through a tight rubber tube, didn't it?" Bill grinned, ruffling Harry's already messy hair. Percy and Mr. Weasley had already set off, a whispered conversation between them.

Harry and Bill walked slowly into the garden. Bill was telling him about his job (he was a curse-breaker at Gringotts, the Goblin-run Wizarding bank) when Harry suddenly found himself in a bone-crushing hug from a bushy-haired witch.

"Can't-breathe-Hermione-"

Ron laughed and came to the rescue of his best friend, peeling the girl off Harry. He punched Harry in the arm instead, and nearly knocking him off his feet. Ginny was standing a little further away, rolling her eyes at her brother's antics.

"Hi Harry." She said when he turned to her. Harry was pleased to see that while she still blushed at the sight of him at least she was articulate. He couldn't help but remember his conversation with Aunt Petunia yesterday: Ginny _was_ cute, and Harry knew she would grow up to be quite pretty, to say the least.

He was promptly hit in the head by a flying gnome. The culprit waved merrily from one of the windows in the higher floors, right next to his twin.

"Whoops! Sorry there, mate."

"You're not sorry at all, actually, are you George?"

"To be perfectly honest? No. And I thought you were George?"

"Is it my turn today? Oh whatever, I'd like to join the fun."

"Here's a half-dozen gnomes, dear brother."

"Ouch! Hey! Stop it!"

"Whoops! Sorry there, Ronnie-kin."

"Then stop throwing!"

"Tell Harry to stop dodging first."

"It's unsporting to use your own mate as a human shield, Harry!"

"Fred! George! Stop that right this instant!" Mrs. Weasley roared from the kitchen. Seizing the chance, Harry ran towards cover while Ron pulled Hermione along. Ginny was still laughing hard, however. The thrown gnomes were slowly recovering, muttering rude words as they staggered away.

The Weasley matriarch was screaming at the twins, who had come downstairs into the kitchen. "What in Merlin's good name were you two doing, you idiots?"

"It's just a bit of fun."

"Yeah, mum, no harm done."

"Go and help your brother Charlie set up the tables now! And don't let me catch you doing stupid stuff like that again! As if those useless pranks weren't enough…" Mrs. Weasley growled at the twins, who scurried off after their second eldest brother as if confronted by a lioness—which, in Harry's opinion, they were.

The redheaded woman then turned towards Harry (he had to suppress the urge to run) and beamed at him. "I am so glad you are here, but Harry! Just look at you! You're so skinny, you need to eat more!"

Harry protested weakly. "But I do eat more, what with lunches in Hogsmeade and…"

"That's no substitute for home cooking," Mrs. Weasley said with a dismissive wave. "Bill put your trunk in Ron's room, where you'll be sleeping. Go and wash up; dinner will be ready soon."

Harry wasn't going to argue with her. The girls, Ron and he were at the second floor when Harry found the smell of smoke and gunpowder practically assaulting him. As his last visit was two years ago his memory was rather fuzzy at the moment. "I take it that's the twins' room?"

"The secret lair of the Unholy Duo, yes. They've always had explosions and fires inside. We thought they just like the sound and smell." Ginny trailed off. They continued climbing the stairs.

"But?" Harry egged her on, as the four reached Ron's room on the top floor of the house. It was Ron who laughed and picked up the thread, however.

"Turns out they are—pardon me—serious about their jokes. They've been inventing stuff for ages, joke items, toys, fireworks…you name it. Mum was furious when she found out. She went berserk on them, burning mail-order forms and binning all the products she got her hands on."

The two Weasleys present winced at the memory; it must have been quite a row. "It wasn't like Mum wasn't mad at them already. They did rather poorly at their OWLs, and now they told her they want to open a joke shop after finishing school." Ginny continued.

It was Hermione who spoke next, as she pulled out a piece of parchment from her pocket. "I actually got an Owl-ad from them a few days ago."

She passed the form to Harry. The top of the form read _Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes_. He scanned the list of products, but could only produce two words afterward.

"_Bloody brilliant_!"

Ron and Ginny laughed. It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

They chatted animatedly before going downstairs to help with dinner an hour later. Ron showed Harry one of the twins' joke items, a fake wand that turned into a rubber fish or squeaky mouse whenever you tried to cast a spell; apparently Ron and Ginny rescued a number of the WWW products from the rubbish bins. Harry played with one enthusiastically and put it behind his ear (Ginny gave him a look that was half surprise and half amusement). Ginny told them about her second year at school (though in the same house, she had little interaction with the rest of them); she refused to disclose the incantation of her Bat Bogey Hex, however, calling it a 'trademarked secret'. Hermione spoke of her trip to Dublin, where her parents were speakers at a conference for dentists. Harry described his summer classes with Vector and Pomfrey. Ginny, Harry was happy to see, was getting more comfortable in his presence.

The four took plates and cutlery out to the garden, where two old, battered tables had been set up under the beautiful night sky. The twins each gave Harry a mischievous wink, and he wondered again what was going on. The thought dissipated when the three eldest Weasley sons appeared, Levitating dish after dish of Mrs. Weasley's excellent cooking towards the table. Harry tugged into the chicken-and-ham pie, boiled potatoes and salad happily, and was momentarily silent as he savoured the flavour. The food at Hogwarts and the Hogsmeade restaurants was great, but these were even better.

The rest of the Weasleys, plus Hermione, were chatting as much as they ate. Percy was telling his father about a report on cauldron bottoms from the Department of International Magical Co-operation ("It was so woefully written I don't know why Mr. Crouch keeps her around!"). Ron, seated next to his third-eldest brother, was not piling food on his own plate for a change; instead he was filling up Percy's, in a desperate attempt to get him eating and stop talking. Hermione was apparently giving the third-year-to-be Ginny advice on elective courses. Mrs. Weasley was trying (and failing) to convince Bill to accept a haircut. Fred and George were talking spiritedly with Charlie, the second-oldest Weasley son who was working with dragons in Romania, about the Quidditch World Cup. Harry tuned in to the conversation.

"I think Ireland has a better chance," Charlie spoke up when he noticed Harry edging closer. "They just flattened Peru and I think they have a better team overall than Bulgaria."

"Bulgaria's got Viktor _bloody_ Krum, though." Fred countered. Charlie shook his head.

"He's great, way better than Lynch and almost anyone I've ever seen, but unless he can find and catch the Snitch in ten minutes I doubt he can win the game for the Bulgarians single-handedly." He picked up another roasted potato.

"Don't sell yourself short, brother," George bumped his shoulder into Charlie's. Fred nodded in Harry's direction. "Although we have to say, little Harry-kin here could give you a run for your money."

Harry coughed to cover up his embarrassment. He remembered the remark Oliver once made about Charlie, about how he could have been on the national team if he hadn't gone to chase dragons. Charlie gave him a pointed look.

"Coming from the twins? That means a lot." He grinned. Harry could feel his face burning now.

"He doesn't have your athleticism, or endurance, but he's an amazing flyer. We alternate between cheering, picking our jaws up from the floor, and suffering heart attacks because of his crazy stunts." George gave him a lazy grin as Fred put some snacks on Harry's momentarily empty plate.

"So, what about that England-Transylvania game? I mean, three hundred ninety to ten." Harry tried to steer the conversation away, and brought up the humiliating English defeat in the quarter-finals. The three Weasleys groaned collectively as Harry took a bite of the custard cream. It tasted delicious—

_Wait a second, why am I yellow? Are these feathers?_ Harry opened his mouth in confusion, except it was now a beak. Everyone at the table, minus the Weasley parents, were laughing at him now—

And then just as suddenly, the feathers moulted away, and Harry found himself back to his normal, human self. Knowing he had been had but didn't really mind, he joined in the laughter. "What was that?" He asked once he composed himself.

"Canary Cream," answered George, wiping tears from his eyes. "Coming soon to Hogwarts, courtesy of the WWW."

"Fred! George! Over here NOW!" The Weasley matriarch shouted from her end of the table. The twins got up reluctantly, knowing what she had in store for them. Fred leaned in and whispered into Harry's ear. "Come to our room in two hours; we need to talk."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry spent the next hour washing dishes with Ron, Hermione and Ginny. He didn't mind so much thanks to the company; after that they distracted Ginny using Crookshanks, and talked in private the latest news from the Wolf and Dog Traveling Circus. Harry told them of his unusual dream, and what he did afterwards.

Hermione was concerned as Ron had a look of understanding on his face.

"So that's why Dad brought Bill and Percy with him to pick you up!" He said. "Dad had your relative's house hooked up to the Floo Network temporarily, and the Twins and I were going to go with him and pick you up. But then he told us he had a change of plans. I bet he'd have taken Charlie too, if he weren't out running errands for Mum."

"How did Dumbledore find out about your nickname for those two?" Hermione wondered out loud. Harry had had the same nagging question as well. "Moony wrote me when I asked. Turns out, they maintained contact with the Headmaster while on the Rat Hunt."

Ron grimaced at the mention of his old 'pet'. Harry was reminded of Fred's words and checked the time. The two hours were almost up.

"I'm going downstairs, the twins wanted to talk to me." His friends nodded as he exited the room. He supposed it had something to do with their little business transaction—but perhaps he could place an advance order for the WWW as well. He reached the landing and knocked on the door opposite Percy's. "Gred? Forge?"

"Come in Harry." He opened the door and entered, rather cautiously, as he looked about the room; he had never been in here before. He stepped closer to the twins' beds, figuring that it would be safer than anywhere else in the room. The window opened to the garden, and an empty cage stood next to it. Pictures of their family and the Gryffindor House Quidditch teams (taken by Colin Creevey, Harry's fan and self-appointed photographer) were the only things that adorned the room. There were scorch marks _everywhere_.

"We want to tell you that the potions and salves you ordered were ready." Fred began, handing a box to Harry. "It was a pity, though, that Pomfrey didn't want them."

Harry shrugged. He showed some of the twins' improved brews to Madam Pomfrey during the summer, after the twins convinced him to help them pitch their products. Harry learned something new that day when Madam Pomfrey told him that while the twins' modified recipes were more effective, they just weren't worth the additional cost and effort. The brands she currently used were both cheaper and easier to brew, especially as Hogwarts purchased them in bulk. Madam Pomfrey ended that day's lessons by introducing Harry to the administrative part of working in the hospital wing, letting him sort out the bills and receipts and purchase orders and inventory lists accumulated in the last school year, and giving him an assignment writing up a budget for the upcoming one. Needless to say, Harry didn't bring up the subject again.

On the other hand, Harry did not have to worry about his budget, especially as he was planning for a much smaller but superior private stock. Thus when he received the medical kit/school bag for his birthday, he decided to owl the twins and ordered more of their product. In their gratitude Fred and George shared with him their modified recipes, which Harry accepted but didn't use; he wasn't going to be able to brew them at the Dursley home, and he was too busy preparing the other supplies in his kit anyway.

"Money well spent, I have to say." Harry said, pulling out his money bag and began counting the galleons. With their talents, the twins should have passed their OWLs, in Potions if nothing else; he briefly entertained the notion that they flunk their exams deliberately.

George stopped him when he turned to the door. He exchanged a look with Fred. "Actually, Harry, there is something else we want to talk about."

"You know we like you, Harry." George put a hand on Harry's left shoulder, and Fred on his right one.

"Great seeker, Ron's best friend, saved Ginny's life, led us to the House Cup three years in a roll," Fred counted off.

"You're practically family—well, one of the honorary Weasleys, anyway." Harry felt heartened at the words.

"But there's one thing we have to warn you about, unless you fancy eating Canary Creams every day."

"Who knows? An overdose may turn you into a canary permanently."

"We don't like threatening you, or anyone—"

"Our pranks are funny, but rarely malicious."

"So, just a word of advice, Harry?" Both twins gave him solemn looks.

Harry returned their expressions. "What's this about?"

"Ginny." Fred answered.

"What about her?"

"We know she likes you a lot, Harry, especially after that whole business with the Chamber of Secrets." George sighed. "But would you please not make a move on her? At least," he added hurriedly, "until the two of us are out of Hogwarts and you two grow up a little more."

"What makes you two think I like her that way?" Harry rolled his eyes, in a desperate attempt to play it off as a joke.

"We have eyes, you know." Fred answered exasperatedly. George picked up the ball next. "Just keep this in mind, Harry: she has six older brothers."

"And what does that have to do with anything?" Harry was genuinely puzzled as Fred opened the door.

"Look, this is just a big brother thing, alright? We love you to bits, Harry, and it'd be great to have you as a brother-in-law. Mum would be thrilled, to say the least, but really, we don't want to be uncles before we reach twenty."

A/N-1: Events in this chapter take place on August 24th, 1994.

A/N-2: Before you ask if this will turn into H/G, read the first two paragraphs of next chapter. Please.


	6. Little Red Riding Hood

Disclaimer: I do not own Cedric Diggory.

Chapte-06: The Little Red Riding Hood of Ottery St Catchpole

Did he really like Ginny? Harry asked himself the question as he settled into bed. Ron had fallen into sleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow; but even if he were still awake he couldn't talk to Ron about his little sister, could he? Harry turned towards the window and closed his eyes as he enjoyed a breeze that ventured into the room.

No, Harry decided after turning about in his bed for nearly an hour. He didn't feel the same flip-flopping in his stomach when he looked at Ginny, or Susan, or Hermione, like he had whenever he was in the presence of Cho Chang. It was just that stupid comment from Aunt Petunia: she was Ron's sister and he was staying at the Burrow right now, and he really wanted to get Ginny over her silly little crush on him, and that led him to be friendlier to her. That was all. But what if she took it the wrong way?

As for Susan—contrary to Sirius' belief, she didn't show any interest in him either—not that he wanted it—or did he? They did spend a lot more time than necessary with each other; and then there was the way Madam Bones looked at him the other day.

Thank goodness there was still Hermione; she was as reliable as ever. The two of them, and Ron of course, had shared too much together. Perhaps he should ask for her opinion about this? It seemed a relatively safe course of action. She was on fairly good terms with Ginny, and seemed to be taking the younger girl under her wing. She might be able to provide an outside perspective for Harry. Unless she was interested in Harry, too?

Harry shuddered at the thought. He liked Hermione a lot, she was his best friend alongside Ron, but somehow he couldn't imagine going further with her. She was just… one of the guys, so to speak. And could their friendship survive, if Harry made a wrong move either way?

And finally there was Cho. The Ravenclaw was quite popular in school, thanks to her academic excellence, beauty and Quidditch star status (perhaps not in that particular order). Harry was positive he liked her, but how did the Chinese girl feel about him? That chance encounter at Hogsmeade was one of the best days in the summer, if not his life. Would he be foolish to want more? Perhaps more importantly, how did he put his moves on her?

Harry cursed his raging hormones as he slowly drifted into sleep.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry grumbled loudly as Mrs. Weasley shook him awake. The moon was still up in the sky; he stole a glance at the clock on the wall.

"It wasn't even five o'clock!" He whined sleepily, covering his face with a pillow. Ron was muttering something indistinctly in the bed next to his. Mrs. Weasley, in an act of great cruelty, pulled out her wand and transfigured their bed sheets into two extremely eager puppies.

"Argh! Alright, I'm up, I'm up! Make it stop, Mum!"

Ron jumped from his bed but Harry was even faster, having already made his way into the bathroom and began washing his thoroughly-licked face. Mrs. Weasley dispelled the dogs back into sheets with a smirk. "Blame the twins if you want to; I took that page out of their book."

They cleaned up quickly, Ron muttering darkly about "evil step-mothers" and "changeling brothers from hell" as they got dressed. Harry pulled his new dual-purpose bag from his trunk; instead of his usual rucksack, he was going to pack his overnight things in it. Even with his three-quarter-full stock of medical supplies, his bag weighed as if it were empty, its load carried by built-in charms. He packed a few Ton-Tongue Toffees and Canary Creams as well, and smiling, put the false wand behind his ear. He had no specific target yet, but someone was going to get pranked today.

The two boys were met in the kitchen with four drowsy people and three awake ones (all adults).

"Where are Percy and Bill?" Fred asked, suppressing a yawn.

"They're Apparating, so they get to sleep in." Mrs. Weasley replied as she put a sandwich apiece in front of Fred and George.

"Can't we Apparate too?" Ron eyed his father speculatively. "They can Side-Along Apparate us to the fields, can't they?"

"There are nine of us, Ronald," Hermione reminded him. "And Side-Along Apparations are even more difficult than regular Apparations."

Ginny turned a questioning eye on Charlie.

"I only passed on my second time, remember? I'm not risking it for the big game." He squeezed Ginny's shoulder. "Besides, I'd like to spend some quality time with my little brothers and sister. I'll walk with you today."

Ginny gave him a huge hug.

"And besides, it is more fun this way!" Mr. Weasley beamed at them, and received a grand total of seven eye-rolls.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Despite having a relatively small breakfast (Ron only had two helpings, for crying out loud), it was nearly an hour later when they started on their trip.

"Why are we meeting there, again?" Ron asked. Their destination was Stoatshead Hill, just beyond the center of Ottery St. Catchpole. Harry was hoping for an explanation, too, and noticed that Hermione had the same inquiring look on her face.

Mr. Weasley saw their looks and decided on a longer explanation. "The Ministry set up a number of Portkeys around the country and the world, you see. Most of these are public, time-activated ones; they transport people to a preset location at a preset time. One is at Stoatshead Hill right now, and we are going to catch it. Portkeying doesn't need a fixed departure and destination points like the Floo, nor does it have the risk involved in Apparation, and it can transport a lot of people quickly and efficiently. In fact," he paused with a mild frown, "they require so little magic from the travelers there had been cases of Muggles activating them by accident."

"How?" Hermione asked, intrigued.

"The area might have magical creatures or plants, increasing the local ambient magic and somehow the Muggle channelled it." Mr. Weasley shrugged apologetically. "It isn't really my field, I'm afraid, so I'm not too clear on the details."

"The creation of a portkey required a whole lot of skills and magic," Charlie added in his two knuts. "That's why the Floo was the main form of transportation you see. It's difficult to make them; right pricy, too."

"I thought they're just some random old stuff?" Ginny spoke up. "Like teapots, or old boots, or something?"

"That is just so that they wouldn't be picked up by curious Muggles." Her father told her. "Really, they can be anything. Some people have private portkeys, too, usually as a bracelet or some personal item, so that they can make a quick escape in an emergency."

Ron had an odd expression on his face. Mr. Weasley lowered his eyes. "Just something back from the bad old days."

"Some people still carry them around, dad." Charlie tried to lift the Weasley patriarch's mood. "Remember that old Auror friend of yours?"

Mr. Weasley spent the next half hour entertaining the youngsters with stories of an ex-Auror, a Mr. Moody, he befriended before that wizard's retirement. The starry sky was chased away as the sun finally made its grand entrance. Fred and George helped Hermione up the last few steps, as the girl clutched a stitch at her side.

"You need to get out more, Hermione," Ron said, handing her his water bottle. The witch, for once, was not arguing; she accepted it gratefully and downed the contents eagerly. Meanwhile Harry began looking around, trying to spot the portkey. Charlie and Ginny had already taken a few steps when a shout reached them.

"Over here, Arthur! We've got the portkey!" The voice said. Mr. Weasley gathered up everyone and made their way towards the two figures on the far side of the hill. As they got closer, Harry could see a tall, muscular wizard with a brown (slightly greying) beard, and a tall, handsome boy that he had recently had lunch with.

"Amos!" Mr. Weasley clasped hands with the older wizard enthusiastically. He introduced them, although it was mostly for the benefit of Harry and Hermione. "This is Mr. Amos Diggory. He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I don't even think I have to introduce his son..."

Charlie was already exchanging handshakes with him. "Cedric, old dog!" He laughed, slapping the younger boy's shoulder.

"They were old chums back when Charlie was still in school." Fred told Harry and Hermione as Ron and Ginny greeted Cedric.

"Taught Cedric his game, he did." George said from the other side of the two Weasley guests.

"We know we're not seeker material, so we don't mind either way."

"No, not bitter at all."

Harry suspected otherwise, but was diverted when the twins put on their smiles and said their hellos to the Diggorys. After Hermione said her greetings it was Harry's turn.

"Harry?" Amos Diggory turned his head as he heard the name. "Harry _Potter_?"

"Err, yeah," Harry said. Even after all these years he still wasn't used to the attention. Cedric came to his rescue, however; he seemed to be quite good at this, intervening at awkward moments.

"I like the new glasses." Cedric winked at him.

"It's greatly admired. Evidently, someone had great taste." Harry shot back, feeling slightly better.

"She's going to be there, too, you know." Cedric lowered his voice conspiratorially, playing with the portkey (a mouldy old boot) in his hand. Harry hoped that his blush wasn't too noticeable.

"Maybe we can all have lunch together?" Harry suggested. Cedric raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know, Harry; we may not be staying at the same camp site after all. We'll just have to see."

Harry was rather grateful at Cedric's hint and tact. He resolved to get the older boy a decent birthday present soon. As the others sat down and chat, Harry turned his attention to the two Ministry workers, who had stepped further away for a more private conversation. Stealing a glance, Harry just realized how much older Mr. Diggory was; standing side by side, he judged him to be perhaps twenty years Mr. Weasley's senior.

"Who else is coming today?"

"The Fawcetts won't be coming, they couldn't get tickets. Lovegood did, however."

"Old Xeno? I didn't expect him to be interested."

"I'm glad he's going, actually, and thankful for whoever that got the ticket for him. He needs to go out more, you know…"

"We're all concerned, Arthur, but there are some things we just can't help." Mr. Diggory sighed heavily.

"You did more than your share. I wished I could've done more."

"Nonsense, Arthur! You and Molly had seven to mind, and as I can see—" He nodded his head in Harry and Hermione's general direction—"you're taking more under your wing."

"They're Ronald's friends, and really great kids." Mr. Weasley said warmly.

"I'll bet. But as it were, you two had more than you could handle. And the wife and I were happy to have the little girl with us. We missed her almost as badly as we did Cedric when she started at Hogwarts."

"I know exactly what you meant, Amos." Mr. Weasley's voice rose as he waved at two newcomers. "Xeno! Over here!"

Harry, along with Charlie and the rest of the youngsters, turned to greet the new arrivals. The taller was a slightly cross-eyed wizard with shoulder-length white hair, wearing an ill-fitting Quidditch robe for the English national team; even by wizard standards, Xeno Lovegood would be considered an eccentric. Harry had to rub his eyes at the sight of the second, shorter figure, however.

She looked like she walked out of a fairy tale book.

She was a very pale blond girl, shorter than Ginny or Hermione, with a surprised look on her face until Harry recognized it as the combined effect of very pale eyebrows and large, silvery-grey eyes. She was wearing a long, white dress with a red cloak. At the moment the hood was over her head, but it could not contain her shining eyes. She was also carrying a large basket.

The girl approached Cedric with a faint smile. He looked back with one of his own. "Hey, Luna."

"Good morning, Cedric." The girl replied. Her voice had a dreamy quality to it. Harry suddenly recognized her as the girl with Cedric at King's Cross Station.

"Hello, little Red Riding Hood!" Ginny hugged the girl—Luna—from behind with a laugh. "Are you coming to the game, too?"

Luna shook her head. "Daddy's going to be busy with work today. The Bulgarians had brought Pillaging Pixies to Britain, claiming that they were their mascot; we thought it might be an assassination attempt against the Minister for what he did to the Heliopaths."

Fred and George, who just took a great swig at their drinks (something called Spit-take Soda), sprayed the liquid all over their clothes. Charlie pulled out his wand and cleaned them up, laughing at his luckless brothers all the way. Hermione and Harry exchanged a bemused glance.

"That's my Luna!" Ginny beamed at the girl, whose eyes were still on Cedric. Ron pulled his friends closer and explained.

"That's Luna Lovegood and her dad Xeno. You can see they aren't too right in the head. Dad said it had something to do with Luna's mum, who had some kind of magical accident years ago." Hermione grimaced at this. Harry recalled what little he overheard just moments earlier. "She came over to the Burrow from time to time, but it was Mr. and Mrs. Diggory who really took care of her. They all but adopted little Luna while her dad recovered; they were quite lonely, really, what with Cedric being away at school and all. For his part, Cedric treats her like a little sister."

Harry looked at the girl again as she talked with Cedric, and thought he recognized the way her face lit up. He knew he probably had the same look whenever near Cho, too. He thought he better kept that to himself, however. "So you just walk your father here, Luna?"

If she were surprised at being addressed by a complete stranger, Luna did not show it. "Oh, no, Harry Potter." She said easily, as if she had known him all his life. She lifted the basket slightly. "Mrs. Diggory hadn't been well for the last few days. I am going to the Burrow next; Mrs. Weasley and I were going to bake something for her."

Harry's inner Healer wanted to question her some more, but he stopped himself as Mr. Weasley checked his watch. "Almost time to go!" He exclaimed, as he and Mr. Diggory gathered everyone, minus Luna, together. She gave Cedric a cheery wave and stepped back. "You can hold on to each other, but it's best to be in contact with the portkey itself…just a finger would do…alright now, three, two, one—"

Harry felt as if a hook just behind his navel was pulled, jerking him forward. He thought he was going to lose touch with the portkey, but somehow his finger was glued onto it. He could feel Ron and Hermione bumping him on either side of his body. His feet had left the ground but just as suddenly, they slammed into hard, solid ground again. He grunted as he fell on his back, then grunt some more as the soft body of Hermione Granger fell into his, then grunt even louder when Ron's lanky one somehow landed on her.

"Can't-breathe-Hermione-Ron-"

"This looked like fun. Shall we join in, brother?" Fred laughed as George threatened to jump onto Ron. Charlie and Ginny, quickly climbing to their feet (Mr. Weasley and the two Diggorys were the only ones who managed to stay on their feet somehow) and removed Ron and Hermione before their combine weight suffocated their best friend. Cedric picked up the fake wand and handed it back to Harry.

"Is all magical transportation this uncomfortable?" Harry asked as he put the wand back behind his ear, once again getting a look of amusement, this time from Cedric.

"I take it you've Apparated before?" The Hufflepuff said after a chuckle.

"Side-Along with Mr. Weasley," Harry answered with a nod. "And I always land on my backside whenever I use the Floo. _Always_."

"It was as if the wizards went out of their way to make traveling by magic as uncomfortable as possible, wasn't it?" Hermione pitched in, still blushing slightly.

"Curses, foiled again! The little muggleborn witch had uncovered our vile, dark secret!" Cedric's answer drew hearty laughter from the young Gryffindors around him.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

After dropping off the now-useless old boot with the wizards stationed at the Portkey-arrival point, Mr. Lovegood and the Diggorys said their goodbyes and went off to their respective camp sites. Mr. Lovegood, Harry learned, was a newspaper man; he had a tent already set up in the media section (he had left the tent to his employees, spending the weekend with his daughter back home instead). Amos and Cedric Diggory were on the list for a spot nearly a mile away. The Weasley group's own camp site, it turned out, was the premier location: the Quidditch pitch was just on the other side of the woods.

Mr. Weasley was greeted by many of his friends and coworkers from the Ministry; they kept stopping him for a chat and complained constantly of a "Mr. Bagman", who seemed to be another Ministry official but instead of helping, was making a mess of things for everyone else. Harry was glad to see how well liked his friend's father was. The fact that for once he, Harry Potter, was not the center of attention was pleasing as well—although it must be said that he positioned himself carefully, behind the twins and flanked by Ron and Hermione.

Harry had never gone camping before in his life, but even he knew what camps should look like. The view on their way to their designated spot, however, was definitely an eye-opener. There were normal-looking tents, of course, but the rest of the tents just stopped short of screaming "Magic!" at passerby's. Most had smoking chimneys, some were multi-story tents, there were two that looked like palaces from One Thousand and One Nights; Ginny squealed in delight at the sight of what looked like a genuine gingerbread house. And then there was one extravagant mansion with a front garden, complete with fountain and live, albino peacocks. Mr. Weasley frowned slightly at the sight of the mansion-tent. Harry thought he saw Charlie mouthed something to his father, who nodded gravely, but before he could decipher the silent exchange Fred and George shouted.

"Bill, Percy!"

The two Weasley brothers had been waiting at their spot, and what's more, they had already set up two tents. Harry and Hermione exchanged puzzled glances, however, as these were two-man tents. They had a party of ten. Ron noticed their expression.

"I know what you two are thinking; let me show you." He pulled his two friends into the tent. Harry could almost felt his jaw dropped on the floor.

For the three of them had stepped inside a two-man tent and found themselves in what appeared to be an old-fashioned suite with three bedrooms. There were even a bathroom and kitchen. Strange enough, it smelled strongly of cats, and reminded Harry of his cat-loving neighbour, Mrs. Figg.

"Wizarding tents! Dad borrowed it off old Mr. Perkins from his office. It's not much, I know, but it'd do for the night." Ron had, after all, lived with this kind of thing every day in his life.

"You and I are sharing the other one, Hermione." Ginny poked her head inside the tent and informed her friend; she too seemed completely unsurprised at the accommodations. Hermione shrugged at the boys, who watched them go before settling down in the bedroom with two bunk beds. Harry distracted Ron with a Canary Cream and successfully grabbed the top bunk.

"You could've just asked if you wanted the top bunk _that_ badly, Harry." Ron said, half-amused and half-irritated, as he tried to clean away the yellow feathers he moulted a minute ago.

"It's more fun this way." Harry smirked mischievously as he climbed down the bed. Ron scowled at him, but quickly broke into a grin of his own. The twins entered the tent, and Ron stopped to exchange a few words with them; Harry decided to climb out and get some fresh air.

"…everything's safe, Father." Harry paused at the doorstep. Percy's voice was low but clear from the other side of the entrance.

"I didn't recognize the tent, but it was fairly obvious whose it was. I've put a little charm at the entrance to monitor comings and goings; but thus far no one had showed up yet." Bill was the next to speak up.

"Dumbledore entrusted us to protect Harry but even if he didn't, he's still our responsibility. We have to be really careful here." Mr. Weasley's words explained quite a lot on Harry's mind, actually. He had been wondering about Charlie's presence on the trek, and Bill and Percy's early arrival. Although he still wondered about that last bit: an extravagant mansion-like tent that caused Mr. Weasley's wariness? Someone…rich? And the word silently exchanged between Charlie and his father?

…Oh. Of course.

Malfoy.

"Something wrong, Harry?" Ron's sudden appearance nearly had Harry jumped out of his skin. He answered, a tad louder than necessary, "no, not at all! Let's go, Ron."

Just as he hoped, the adult Weasleys ended their conversation as the boys appeared, although Harry could sense a minuscule amount of tension in the air, an undercurrent that he did not notice previously. Bill still looked around easily, but Charlie kept his hand close to his pocket, as if he were ready to draw his wand at the merest sign of trouble. Ron called the girls, and Hermione appeared. Mr. Weasley began to examine his site map enthusiastically, and assigned jobs for everyone. Harry, Ron and Hermione were sent to get water from a tap from the other side of the field (Harry noticed another knowing nod between the Weasley patriarch and Bill).

Ron and Hermione shared a few laughs on their way across the city of tents, but Harry, trailing slightly behind the two, was rather distracted from his surroundings and mostly kept silent along the way. He was digesting the latest bit of unintentionally-gathered information.

Harry never expected Dumbledore to take his words so seriously, that he would mobilize the entire Weasley family for his sake. The tiny bit of nagging doubt at the back of mind seemed to strengthen just a tad more, now; the fear that he had overreacted grew, if only slightly.

_But I didn't ask for this! Dumbledore is making moves behind my back! _The rational side of him argued.

_Or are you just irritated because he didn't care to involve you?_

_Or maybe the fact that Dumbledore is so serious about your safety? _

But the thing that scared him the most, Harry reflected as the three of them arrived at the queue for the water tap, was that the Weasleys, the family that had all but adopted him, might get hurt—or worse—because of him.

And that was something he could never forgive himself for.

A/N: Events in this chapter take place on August 25th, 1994.


	7. Pregame matchups

Disclaimer: I do not own Cho Chang.

Chapter-07: Pre-game matchups

"Took you three long enough," the twins said together, as Harry, Ron and Hermione returned from their water quest. "What held you up?"

"Met a few people on the way back," Hermione said easily. Ron schooled his face as Harry hurried forward and shoved his bucket of water into Fred's arms.

They encountered Seamus Finnigan, their Irish schoolmate and fellow fourth-year Gryffindor, after finally getting water from the water tap. He brought them to his shamrock-covered tent, one among many similarly decorated in their section of the camp. They were introduced to his mother, Mrs. Finnigan, who drilled the three of them regarding the game and Ireland's chances; fortunately Ron, Quidditch fanatic that he was, was able to satisfy the witch's questions and allowed them to escape after a mere fifteen minutes. They also ran into Oliver Wood, the newly graduated Gryffindor Quidditch team captain and Keeper; he just signed on to Puddlemore United's reserve team. Next they were hailed by Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff in their year. He, for one, was wearing scarlet robes in support of the Bulgarian national team. And then Harry ran into Cho Chang—fortunately, not literally this time.

"_Hi, Harry." She beamed at the sight of the three passing Gryffindors. The addressed wizard nearly dropped the bucket on his feet._

"_Cho!" He put down the bucket quickly and greeted the girl. "I, err, heard that you'd be here today, at the Finals."_

"_Yeah." She was still smiling at him. "My mum and I are staying at the north site."_

_Harry felt like he had taken two Ton-Tongue Toffees. He didn't dare get his hopes up as he blurted out the question. "So, err, any, err, plans before the big game?"_

_Cho blushed. "I'm on my way to see a friend, maybe have lunch together." She told her shoes, her voice barely above a whisper._

"_Oh. Well." Harry forced a grin onto his face, and hoped that it didn't look too much like a grimace. "Err, in that case, have fun. I'll see you around later, perhaps?"_

"_Perhaps." The Ravenclaw locked eyes with him for a second before waving goodbye to Ron and Hermione, and hurried onto her way. Ron picked up the bucket and gave it to Harry._

"_Time to go, Casanova." Hermione gave him a push in the back to get him going. Harry pointedly avoided Ron's eyes on the way back, knowing his best friend must be smirking at him._

A hand on his arm brought Harry back to the present. The youngest Weasley was studying him closely. "Are you alright, Harry?"

"Oh yes, of course, Gin." Harry thought he could felt two pairs of eyes boring into the back of his head. He stepped away from the red-haired girl quickly and (he hoped) discreetly. "Have you started cooking yet?"

"Dad was playing with the matches, wanting to do it the Muggle way, until Percy got annoyed and lit the fire himself." George answered, rolling his eyes. "Bill is almost done now, but Dad's still sulking in the tent. Charlie's trying to lure him out."

The Weasley Patriarch's love for all things Muggle was legendary; Harry still remembered the flying Ford Anglia he and Ron rode to school nearly two years ago. He wondered if his bag of Muggle treats, particularly the marshmallow, could draw out the man. Before he could put his plan into motion, however, Percy jumped from his seat next to the fire.

"Mr Bode! Mr. Croaker!" The addressed men ventured over and talked chat with Percy, if only briefly. They nodded at Mr. Weasley, who had finally emerged from the tent (it turned out he just wanted a little nap), but left after exchanging the briefest pleasantries. Harry showed Mr. Weasley the marshmallows, but it was Hermione who had the actual experience with barbequing them.

"This is really good!" The man exclaimed in delight. His children agreed, but they were all too busy tearing into their share to speak up. Fortunately, Harry brought two large bag's worth of the treat; once again he was thankful for that shopping trip two months back.

Mr. Weasley paused as he reached for another marshmallow and waved at a passing Wizard. "Ludo!"

A large wizard in a yellow-and-black Quidditch robe turned at the sound of his name. He was a large man, once powerfully built but had since gained a round belly. He reminded Harry of an adult Dudley, but with joyous blue eyes and an easy laugh that would never be found on his cousin. Mr. Weasley introduced the man. "This is Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Sports Department at the Ministry. The man we had to thank for our good tickets today!"

The man laughed, a good natured, deep-belly laugh, and waved his hand. "It's nothing, Arthur old boy! Have you seen old Barty Crouch around?"

Mr. Weasley shook his head as Percy stepped forward. Mr. Weasley began making introductions. "This is my third son, Percy; you might have seen him around, he had been interning at the Ministry for the past month or so. And this is William, my eldest, working at Gringotts now; and Charles—"

Harry moved himself slightly so that he had his back to the newcomer. Ludo Bagman didn't ask about the two non-Weasleys, however, and brought up another topic after the round of introductions.

"Fancy a little friendly wager, Arthur?" Bagman said with more than a hint of eagerness. Harry thought he could hear something jingling in the wizard's pocket.

"Oh, let's see…" Mr. Weasley pulled his moneybag from his pocket. "Let's say, a galleon on Ireland to win?"

If Bagman were disappointed he recovered quickly. He was helped by the twins, who pulled him aside and engaged him in a whispered conversation. Harry adjusted his seat to get a better view: the older man had a delighted look as he pulled out a book and wrote something down with a quill. Money changed hands. Mr. Weasley was frowning at the three huddling together.

"They are betting on the game, aren't they?" Hermione too had been observing, but more discreetly than Harry was.

Ginny nodded. "They've been talking about it for days. Irish for the win but Krum for the Snitch."

"Who's Krum?" Hermione asked.

"_Who's Krum?_" Ron stared at her disbelievingly. "Gee I don't know, maybe the greatest seeker in the world right now? The prodigy who single-handedly brought the Bulgarians to the World Cup Finals? Viktor _bloody_ Krum?"

"That grumpy-looking fellow on those posters?" Hermione asked in an innocent tone, and suddenly Harry realized that she was having Ron on. The redhead, for his part, was completely clueless; he looked like he wanted to give her the eye-roll to end all eye-rolls, but settled for a shake of his head in the end. Hermione caught Harry's amused look and gave him a mischievous wink.

Bagman, having finished his business with the twins, turned to Mr. Weasley once more, except that the red-haired man was now speaking with someone else. He roared. "Oi, Barty!"

Harry took in the view of the newcomer. He knew at once that this wasn't any other wizard: for he was dressed in a well-tailored dark suit, highly-polished shoes, completed with a narrowly trimmed moustache and short, straight grey hair. The man could have passed for a Muggle banker, and even Uncle Vernon wouldn't have noticed the difference. Although, Harry added a second later, the fact that he chose to dress like this _in the middle of a camping site _could be a point counted against him. Apparently Hermione had the same thought, if the bemused expression on her face was any indication. Ron nudged his friends.

"That's Mr. Crouch, the man Percy was crazy about." Ron rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "Head of International Affairs—or something like that—at the Ministry."

Harry glanced at the two wizards again. Standing next to each other, the contrast between Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman couldn't be clearer. One was so uptight and rigid he could probably be used as a ruler, the other a laid-back, easygoing man who wouldn't mind bending the rules from time to time. Harry bet that Percy would love working for Mr. Crouch; they seemed so much alike, and the former Head Boy did look up to authority. He briefly entertained the notion, if Percy was assigned to Bagman's department instead.

"He'll probably resign on the spot." Harry wondered aloud, and made a face when Ron and Hermione looked at him for the out-of-the-blue comment. He gave a dismissive wave.

The Ministry officials seemed to be having a difference of opinions, while Mr. Weasley tried to mediate between them. The two wizards settled down after a while, however, and after saying their farewells Disapparated together. Mr. Weasley returned to the fireside, and gratefully accepted a plateful of marshmallows from Charlie.

"Crouch has been looking for Ludo for a while. Apparently the Bulgarians want to add another dozen of seats in the Top Box, but need authorization from Ludo because he is, after all, the Department Head responsible for the organizations."

Percy snorted. "Bagman can't organize his way out of his desk drawer."

"I don't know what would have happened if Barty Crouch hadn't stepped up to the task." Mr. Weasley admitted, not bothering to contest Percy's statement. "Then again, Barty has always been brilliant. At one time he was considered for Minister for Magic, you know. If nothing else, he is a linguistic genius. Do you know that he can speak over two hundred languages?"

Hermione's eyes widened, but Harry cut her off.

"What happened?" He wanted to know.

"Bad business after the war. He was caught in a scandal and…" Mr. Weasley trailed off. Harry knew better than to press it, however.

"Hurry up and finish your food, everyone;" Bill interjected after consulting his watch. No sooner had he done so a deep, booming gong sounded, echoing throughout the camp site and beyond.

"It's time to go."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The group of ten had to stay close together as Mr. Weasley led the way to the stadium. Witches and wizards of all nationalities were congregating together at the entrances; there must be thousands of people gathered here today for the final game of the Quidditch World Cup. The atmosphere was thick with feverish excitement, and all but Hermione seemed to be caught up in it. They were split up several times along the way, and had to shout loudly to find their lost members; fortunately the fiery red hair of the Weasleys was easy to spot among the sea of people. Hermione grabbed Ron with one hand and Harry with the other, and they stayed close to the twins for the rest of the way. The group arrived at the entrance, where Mr. Weasley was showing the Ministry witch their tickets.

"A hundred thousand people and we got the Top Box! This is going to be good." He said as the witch gave him an envious look, and directed them to their seats.

"A hundred thousand?" Harry asked after gently loosening Hermione's grip on his hand. Mr. Weasley nodded.

"It took a special Ministerial Task Force of five hundred to finish the preparations. Still took up the better half of a year to get it all done, Muggle-repelling charms and all."

Now that they were three quarters of the way to the top box, Harry took in the view below him: tens of thousands of people poured into the stadium, many of whom were wearing green in support of the Irish. The Bulgarian supporters were in red, and almost all had a picture of Krum, their star seeker and best player all around. Harry had never seen so many people together in his life. For a second, he thought of Oliver, and Cedric and Cho, and Ernie and Seamus among the sea of people. He also thought of Mr. Lovegood, and a girl in a white dress with red cloak. He smiled slightly at the image as they arrived at their destination.

Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, was already in the Top Box. He turned at the sound of the door opening, and beamed at the sight of Harry. "Why, if it isn't Harry! I have no idea you are coming to day, my boy! Oh, and, Arthur. Is this your family?"

But the group's attention was focused on the man Fudge had been speaking with: Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father and long time nemesis of the Weasleys. Mr. Weasley's face lit up with alarm; Bill was shooting calculating looks at the pale, blond man, and Charlie casually stepped in front of Harry. Fudge looked about in confusion as everyone tensed up all of a sudden. Even the twins positioned themselves on either side of Harry, as if flanking him.

"Well, well, Arthur Weasley and his brood," he drawled, an eye on Harry. "And if it isn't the great Harry Potter."

Fortunately, Percy arrived at this moment, and made a beeline for Fudge. "Minister!" He exclaimed, running over to the short man and bowing so low that his glasses fell off. The building tension mesmerizing everyone was broken; Malfoy snorted while Fudge shook hand with the youngest adult Weasley uncertainly, though he seemed to compose himself somewhat and after speaking with Percy for a few minutes, turned to greet a delegation of Bulgarian officials.

With a great flourish of his cloak the senior Malfoy returned to his seat, next to a blond woman and another equally blond boy: Draco Malfoy, Harry's enemy in Hogwarts since first year. The woman—no doubt Mrs. Malfoy—looked at the Weasley group with a coldness that suggested she didn't care for them one way or the other. She did focus her eyes on Harry for a second, however, but her expression remained unreadable. Harry, for his part, held his head high and his shoulders square, unwilling to give the impression that he was affected in any way by the scrutiny. The Weasleys made their way to their seats, which thankfully happened to be on the opposite side from the Malfoys.

Percy was still rather red in the face as he sat down behind Harry, no doubt for making a fool of himself in front of the Minister. There was a house-elf at the second-to-last seat in the front row, trembling and covered its eyes with its small hands. Harry was quite surprised at its presence, and for a split second thought it to be Dobby, the former Malfoy family elf that was freed by Harry two years ago. Hermione was similarly studying the tiny creature, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"That's a house-elf." Harry whispered in her ear. Ron leaned in closer as well and joined the conversation.

"I have never seen or heard of one out in the open like this before," he told them. "They normally stay inside houses and mansions, and even then they tend to avoid being seen by guests. It's considered ill form. They were _House_-elf, you know."

He was slightly annoyed at their surprised look, and grunted. "What?"

"Methinks the gentleman has succumbed to Hermionitis at long last, my lady." Harry told Hermione. She laughed as Harry received an elbow to the rib from his redhead friend. "Ouch!"

Mr. Weasley put a hand on Ron's shoulder. "Barty Crouch said he had two seats reserved at the Top Box. I think that is his Elf."

"She looks scared," observed Hermione.

"Heights, perhaps?" Ron shrugged. "And how can you tell it's a she, anyway?"

Before Hermione could answer, a man in a yellow-and-black Quidditch robe charged into the Top box. Ludo Bagman had arrived.

"Everyone ready?" he roared, and the nearest Bulgarian official winced. "Shall we begin, Minister?"

"Go right ahead, Ludo!" Fudge rubbed his hands together eagerly. Bagman pulled out his wand and cast a spell on himself. "_Sonorus!_"

Harry and Hermione immediately put their hands over their ears. Ludo Bagman was talking in a volume that was drowning out the ambient noise of the ten thousand people in the stadium, and he was doing it not ten meters away from them, right here in the Top Box. The Weasleys and the rest of the wizards did not seem as affected, strange enough; nonetheless, Bill caught their motions and considerately conjured two pairs of earmuffs (neither pink nor fluffy, thank Merlin) for them. The two Muggle-raised accepted them gratefully.

Now that he was no longer assaulted by the deafening noise, Harry could feel the excitement welling up inside himself, too. He and Charlie were bantering earlier and they agreed to a friendly wager, a challenge for the game: the two of them would try to find the Snitch, and see how well the past and present seekers of the Gryffindor House Team compared to the world-class seekers playing today. They were to use omnioculars, magical devices that allowed them to watch and record plays, but they weren't allowed to use zoom or the other functions. The two of them were discussing seeker strategies (Harry holding up one side of his earmuff for the conversation) when a dull roar spread through the stadium. The game had not yet started; puzzled, Harry turned to the Quidditch pitch to see what the commotion was.

The sight nearly stopped his heart.

For there were a hundred blond and very beautiful women on the field, dancing in their short, red skirts, the most beautiful women he had ever seen—but there was something else—something that seemed off. They were almost ethereal, godly—

_Inhuman—_

Harry couldn't take his eyes off them and could barely think straight, but he was able to control himself just enough, and bit his lower lip hard. At once, tears welled up in his eyes in response to the sharp pain, and his view of the women was clouded. He put a hand in front of his eyes quickly, blocking his view to the pitch. He could almost feel his brain clearing up.

"What on earth is that?" He shouted at Hermione, who along with Ginny seemed to be the only ones among the younger members of their group not to be severely affected by the view of the dancing women. Indeed, even Charlie and Percy seemed mesmerized by the performance; Bill was restraining the twins and Mr. Weasley had his hand on Ron's shoulder. Harry was slightly amused by the sight of Draco Malfoy, who was also affected and was in fact struggling against his mother's hold.

Hermione pulled at his earmuff so that he could hear her. "Veela." She said simply.

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation; Hermione's explanation was _so_ unhelpful right now. He was distracted by her literally breathing down his neck, however, and for the second time within twelve hours cursed his hormones again. He risked a peek at the pitch, and sighed in relief as the Veela dancers retreated to their side of the field. A swarm of green and gold—the Irish National Team colors, so Harry assumed that to be their mascot—entered and began flying around the Quidditch pitch. Ludo Bagman seemed not to be speaking right now, so he gestured to Hermione. They pulled off their earmuffs together.

"Why were you unaffected by the Veela's charm?" She asked as she shot a disgusted look at Ron, who was still only recovering from their effects.

"Because I'm awesome?" Harry grinned. Hermione swatted his head playfully. Mr. Weasley had an answer for that, however.

"Part of the Veela's charm lies in their singing, but your earmuffs blocked most of it." He said as the Irish mascots (which turned out to be Leprechauns) settled down in an area opposite their Bulgarian counterparts. Fourteen players, seven in red and seven in green, flew onto the field in the midst of cheers and applause. "Oh, here we go!"

"And now, the one hundred and twenty-ninth Quidditch World Cup Finals, Bulgaria versus Ireland!" Mr. Bagman roared into the megaphone. "Let the game begin!"

A/N: Events in this chapter take place on August 25th, 1994.


	8. Rally and Riot

Disclaimer: I do not own Viktor Krum.

Chapter-08: Rally and Riot

The game kicked off right after Bagman introduced the players. Harry could feel the excitement exhibited by the stadium-full of people, even if he couldn't hear them. He began his self-appointed task: then, reflecting that the earmuffs were an unfair advantage, he tore them off and tossed them aside. Sound wave blasted into him immediately, but he focused on the pitch and mentally shut out the overwhelming noise. He was a seeker, and he was seeking now.

Harry scanned the field quickly but carefully, although he knew the game was already raging fiercely; the roars and cheers and jeers and groans floated into his ears and his mind, but he paid no heed to them. He wondered if he should look at the seekers, Lynch and Krum, as well; after all it was a standard tactic in seeking, to observe your opponent in case they did notice the Snitch first. He chanced a glance at them—and nearly jumped from his seat.

For Krum and Lynch were already racing each other towards the ground at breakneck speed, scattering the two teams' Chasers as they went past; Krum was in the lead, Lynch not far behind and pushing hard. Both were riding the same broom, a Firebolt just like Harry's own, and Harry could see that Krum was flying like a bird-of-prey. Harry was mesmerized, but only for a second, before tracking their trajectory and looking for their target. But where was the Snitch?

Then a thought hit him: it's a feint. Krum hadn't seen the Snitch! He's faking it!

Harry tore his eyes away immediately, trying to re-establish his search pattern before his attention was drawn to Krum and Lynch. No sooner had he done so, that he heard a groan and the whistle blowing.

"Time out!" Harry allowed himself to hear Bagman's words, although he suspected he knew what it was about—and he was quickly proven correct. "Medi-Wizards are checking on Aidan Lynch now…and what a move it was! The score is seventy-twenty for the Irish!"

Bagman began describing the Wronski Feint and how Krum delivered a textbook example of the move, but Harry was already back on his task, again shutting out the commentator and the noises below, searching, seeking; no doubt it was what Krum and Charlie were doing as well… He scanned the Bulgarian goal posts… nothing…

Red- and green-clad figures took flight again, and Harry knew that Lynch was back on his feet (or, more like, on his broom) and the game had restarted. He still hadn't sighted the Snitch! Although, of course, neither had Krum, or he wouldn't have to pull that stunt on Lynch. A very convincing and well-executed feint, at that. The Bulgarian was exactly what Ron called him: the greatest seeker in the world right now, and in Harry's opinion, probably for years to come.

Harry allowed himself a second to wonder what it would be like to actually play against Krum.

Lynch, apparently, had decided not to look for the Snitch: knowing he was outclassed, he simply flew around Krum, trying to distract him and ran interfere in the Bulgarian's searching pattern. Harry stole a glance at the scoreboard, and there lied the reason: the Irish was pulling away slowly, with a seventy-point lead at the moment. The Bulgarians, meanwhile, had tightened their defence and even placed two of their Chasers near the goalposts; the Beaters were sending Bludgers at the Irish, disrupting their rhythm as much as they could; apparently they had taken the opposite approach, and were trying to slowed down the juggernaut that was the Irish Chasers, while hoping Krum would deliver for them again.

Somehow, Harry thought Krum _could_, too.

Unfortunately, the Bulgarians were being outplayed in almost every position except Seeking. Their Keeper was second-string and breaking under the relentless assault; the defensive stance their Chasers took meant that the Irish had even more possession-time of the Quaffle and thus, more time to attack; the Beaters were evenly matched, and couldn't help their cause. Yet another goal—and the Bulgarians were now down by a hundred points. They couldn't hold out much longer under such onslaught; Harry knew that Krum had to find the Snitch, and soon.

Harry continued his own search frantically, imagining himself in the Bulgarian's position. His team needed him to snatch victory from the jaw of defeat! The flickers of gold from the Leprechauns, Ireland's mascots, were not helping—

And then he saw it. The Golden Snitch was hovering near midfield, zigzagging towards the sidelines. Harry froze for only a half-second, before snapping out of it and took a picture with his omnioculars immediately (as proof for his and Charlie's little wager). Charlie and Ron both shouted at almost the same moment.

"There!" Charlie raised his fist triumphantly, taking his own omniocular picture.

"He has seen it! It's not a feint!" Ron jumped from his seat and pointed.

Lynch was diving towards midfield, where Harry had only moments before spotted the Snitch. A red-clad figure was hot on his trail; Krum seemed to have taken a hit from the Bludger when Harry wasn't looking, because his nose was bleeding furiously, two streams of dark crimson tracing his flight. Instead of diving after Lynch, he took a more curved route, and Harry realized the reason behind the change in his flight plan: he knew he couldn't overtake Lynch in a straight race, so he tried to predict the trajectory of the Snitch instead, and got to where he thought the Snitch would be. It was simple yet brilliant—and elegant as well, as he glided under the players of both teams and sped towards his target, his prey. Lynch had the Snitch in sight, but he dared not decelerate, dared not let victory escape his grasp—

"They're going to crash!" shrieked Hermione as the two seekers closed in on the Golden Snitch.

"They're not!" roared Ron.

"Lynch is!" yelled Harry, and no sooner had the words left his mouth it happened. Lynch was literally going for broke, pushing every last bit of speed out of his Firebolt, but Krum could not be denied: he reached and stole the Snitch just before Lynch's hand closed on it.

The Irish seeker ploughed into the ground with tremendous force and a loud crash, and his Firebolt bounced off, breaking into three pieces (Harry winced horribly), but the Irish were cheering instead of groaning. Krum pulled up immediately, holding up his hand and the flickering golden ball inside, but there were no pleasure on his face. Harry looked up and saw why: despite Krum's amazing play and the one-hundred-fifty point he earned by catching the Snitch, the Bulgarians were still ten points short. The game was over and they lost.

"The final score: One-hundred-eighty to one-hundred-seventy for the Irish! Krum gets the Snitch, but Ireland wins! The hundred and twenty-ninth Quidditch World Cup goes to Ireland!" Bagman shouted into the megaphone as green and gold fireworks exploded above the pitch. Ireland's supporters were cheering, applauding, and hugging each other. The Bulgarian team's fans were much more subdued for obvious reasons, but they still clapped politely for a well-played game.

Harry, who had been on his feet for the last minute or so, settled back into his seat. Ron and Hermione did the same on either side of him.

"What a game." Hermione was fanning herself with the programme, her face red and shining with sweat. Ron and Harry exchanged a smirk: coming from Hermione, this meant a lot.

"Bloody brilliant." Ron's voice was coarse, no doubt thanks to all the shouting and cheering.

"Too right," Harry had the final word, as the two teams landed to shake hands. "They'll be talking about this one for _years_."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The Weasleys, plus Harry and Hermione, were all talking excitedly as they slowly made their way back to the camp. The twins were in a great mood for winning their bet; they were going to write to Mr. Bagman soon. Mr. Weasley spent several minutes chastising the twins for gambling but washed his hands thereafter; it was as if he just wanted plausible deniability when Mrs. Weasley found out about whatever the twins were planning now (Harry had a very good idea what_ that_ might be). Charlie was not at all talkative at the moment, responding only in grunts and snorts; comparing their omniocular snapshots, he found himself a full second behind Harry in finding the Snitch, and he was not at all happy with the result. The rest of them were discussing the game excitedly, filling in for Harry and Charlie the details of the game. Even the normally uptight Percy joined in, criticising the Bulgarian Keeper and comparing him unfavourably to his old dorm-mate, Oliver Wood.

By the time they made their way through the singing, celebrating crowd and reached their tent, it was nearly seven and they were all quite hungry. Bill lit the campfire before any arguments could arise, but Mr. Weasley wasn't really in the mood for that at the moment. They ate heartily, finishing the rest of Harry's bag of marshmallow, and continued the verbal replay of the game over cups of cocoa. It wasn't until Harry noticing Ginny nodded off that he nudged Bill, who in turn nudged Mr. Weasley and pointed at the clock. It was only about nine, and the celebration was still going on around the camp site, but they did have a very long day today.

"I think we better call it a night, everyone," Mr. Weasley said as Hermione guided Ginny to the other tent. Harry was more tired than he realized; he barely got into his bunk bed and fell into sleep almost immediately.

He was flying…he was diving towards the ground, the target was in sight, the golden flicker hovering near midfield…the crowd was silent as he and his opponent raced towards it…Harry and Krum, fighting for ultimate glory…he stretched his hand…

_BANG_.

Harry sat up quickly, narrowly avoided hitting his head on the canvas, and grabbed his glasses. Percy was in the room, literally dragging Ron out of his bed. Harry knew something was wrong, and what remained of his dream evaporated immediately.

"What's going on?" He asked, alarmed.

"Riot." Percy's answer was short and to the point. He waved his wand. "_Accio _cloaks! Don't bother with your clothes, Harry, we have to go now!"

The boys, now fully awake, threw on the summoned cloaks. Harry grabbed his bag before running out of the room; his Invisibility Cloak was inside and there was no way he would leave his family heirloom behind. Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys were already outside and huddling together. Harry paled at the sight.

People were still outside, shouting, running, but they were not celebrating anymore. Instead they all had panicked looks on their faces, and they were shouting in alarm, and running towards the woods. Only a few campfires were still burning at the moment; many had their wands lit, but even then the darkness was encroaching from every side. There were jeering, and roars of laughter, and various flashes of light, but above all Harry could feel a coldness quite unfitting for a summer night in August, an unnatural coldness he had felt several times before, the last by the lake in Hogwarts, in the middle of June—

"Dementors." He whispered. Hermione gasped, and Harry could tell that she had the same thought.

"Impossible! They should all be at Azkaban! And they don't laugh or do magic!" Ron all but shouted, but he, too, seemed to recognize the unnatural cold and the feeling of despair rising inside him.

"Look…" Ginny pointed into the darkness, her eyes wide with fear.

Any thoughts that they were Dementors quickly dissipated, as Harry saw the group of figures. They were not gliding, but walking—more like marching, actually, and they all had wands in their hands. Their hoods were up and their faces were masked. One figure lifted a wand and blasted a tent out of his way; another lit several tents on fire with a howl of laughter. This was no ordinary drunken riot.

"Death Eaters." Mr. Weasley took in a deep breath, and by the lights of lit wands Harry could see him pale visibly. Hermione found herself suddenly flanked by Ginny and Ron and looked at them in alarm. "They were You-Know-Who's supporters."

"They attack Muggles! Those must be the campsite manager and his family." Bill pointed, and only now did Harry notice the four figures suspended in mid-air, struggling feebly.

"But I'm a witch!" Hermione almost wailed.

"An amazingly brilliant one, yes, but you're Muggleborn and as bad as normal Muggles in their eyes." Ron answered.

"The Ministry can and will deal with this," Percy cut in, his face grim but determined. "We had more important things to consider."

"What?" The twins echoed, indignant. Harry was not surprised that they had their wands out already; he had done the same himself.

"Percy is right." Charlie spat out the words through clenched teeth. He put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry is our top priority. We must get him to safety."

If he looked at this objectively, Harry knew that he would agree with their logic. He knew that Dumbledore had tasked the Weasleys to protecting Harry after he related the dream about Voldemort. If nothing else, this confirmed the ancient wizard's suspicion: the Dark Lord's old supporters were still around. Was this an isolated incident? Or could this be a prelude for things to come, perhaps they already knew of his return?

But Harry hated above all else to stand idly by while others were getting hurt, maybe even getting killed—

"Take Percy and Charlie and Bill and go help the Ministry," Harry told Mr. Weasley, in a commanding voice he never thought he had. "The rest of us will hide in the woods. I have my Invisibility Cloak with me, and if push comes to shove I—we—will defend ourselves magically."

"Damn right." Ron said as he, Hermione, and even Ginny took out their wands. "We can't help you, Dad, but we can take care of ourselves. The Muggles need your help."

"We'll be the responsible ones and take care of the kiddies." George said and Fred nodded.

Mr. Weasley gave the underage members of their group a hard look. Anger, fear, pride, and a variety of other emotions seemed to be fighting to express themselves.

"You lot—get in the woods and _stick together_! We'll fetch you when we sorted this out!" He said at last, and ran towards a group of Ministry officials, the three eldest Weasley brothers trailing after him. Fred turned and grabbed Ginny's arm, George held Harry by the shoulder, and Ron gripped Hermione's hand tightly. Fred nodded.

"We've paired up? Excellent! We'll stay together, of course, but watch out especially for your partner. Let's go!"

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The woods were only a short distance away, but between the confusion, the panicking people, and the need to stick together, it took the group of adolescences several minutes to reach it. They looked back at the edge of their temporary shelter: The adult Weasleys had disappeared from view, probably among the group of Ministry wizards now. More tents were lit on fire, although someone had begun extinguishing them; a few spells were exchanged between the Ministry officials and the rioters, but the Ministry wizards seemed reluctant to actually fight. There were too many bystanders around, not to mention the Muggles floating above them, held hostage by the Death Eaters. And then there was this strange, suffocating coldness—why is it so cold anyway?

Screaming, crying people were everywhere. Harry could discern scared children and anxious parents shouting for each other. A group of witches walked by; some were limping and one was cradling her arm, wincing horribly. They were levitating an old witch who seemed to be unconscious. A little girl was at her side, sobbing loudly.

"Medic!" One of the witches shouted in thickly-accented English. "We need 'ealers! W'ere're ze 'ealers?"

Harry looked about, but none were responding to the witch's plea. Even if there were mediwitches or mediwizards around, it was too dark and noisy in the woods to find them. He gritted his teeth and turned towards George.

"What's the best lighting magic you can do?" He asked the older boy.

"A torch charm." One-half of the unholy duo answered, giving him a look. "Best if we just lit a fire. What do you have in mind?"

Harry was already considering his options. It's stupid; really, he didn't need to do anything, especially not this.

_But I want to. _He thought as he tightened his grip on his bag. "They need help, and I can help."

Fred, Ginny, Ron and Hermione nudged closer to listen to the conversation. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Harry?"

"I'm sure it isn't. I'm doing it anyway." Harry took a deep breath and raised his wand. "_Expecto Patronum!_"

At once, Prongs burst from his wand, and the glowing silvery stag galloped around the six of them. Harry could feel the fear and coldness melting away, just like that night when Dementors retreated from the charging Patronus. The people around them gasped and pointed at them, amazement on their faces.

"_What's the golden rule of all Healers?" Pomfrey asked at their first lesson._

"_Don't panic." Harry had answered._

"What's wrong with her?" Pushing the memory away, Harry pointed at the unconscious witch and bellowed at her companions. He wondered if he needed to put a _Sonorus_ on himself, but the woods seemed to have quiet down somewhat.

"Concussion." The English-speaking witch told him, a hopeful look on her face. Another witch conjured several blankets and the injured witches were set down gently. Harry forced himself to focus; he cast a quick diagnostic charm on the old witch, but gently felt her head and neck just the same.

"No neck or head injury as far as I can tell." He said, and shoved a vial of potion into the English-speaking witch's hands. "A standard healing potion, she should be fine, but let's not move her until professional Healers can check on her, alright?"

He turned to check on the other witches and do whatever he could. "_Brackium Emendo_! Don't move your arm, madam; give it fifteen minute's time. Held your head up, please!_ Episkey_—is that better? Here, let me—_Tergeo_! You know what to do with that one, Fred! Take one of your salves and get to work! Can you get him some more bandages, Ginny? I'll have to counter the curse first…here. I need a hand, Ron, Hermione! Squeeze the wound tight, this is a bad one—blood replenishing potion, George! _Episkey! Episkey! Episkey!_"

The spell was only fit for minor to moderate injuries, really, but casting it repeatedly was able to do the job, and the deep cut on the last witch's arm slowly mended together. Harry added a few drops of dittany before George bounded the wound tightly. Someone had conjured up globes of light above them, but Prongs remained, walked around them and illuminating their area of the woods with silver light. Several witches and wizards arrived, with various degrees of burns, bruises and cuts, but nothing serious, and Harry's little team administrated treatments quickly. Harry cast another diagnostic charm on a wounded witch and shouted for a burn salve.

"Thank you," her husband said gratefully, with what Harry believed to be an American accent.

"You better let her sit for a while," Harry was treating the wizard's brother now, who had a cut above his eye. "Actually, if it's alright with you, can you go about and see if anyone else needs medical help?"

Before the wizard could answer, however, Ron tapped Harry on the shoulder. "Incoming!"

A wizard with a Ministry badge was holding a young girl in his arms, followed by several others Ministry officials, each of them carrying wounded people with _Mobilicorpus_ spells. "Healer! Where's the healer?"

"Here!" Harry approached the new arrivals quickly. The wizard looked surprised for a moment, but quickly composed himself. "The bastards dropped the little girl. We threw a cushioning charm but she's still badly hurt."

Hermione gasped as the Muggle girl was lowered onto a blanket. Even to untrained eyes, her injuries were obvious: her legs were broken in several places, and she was out from the shock; her breath was quick and shallow. Harry knew that he couldn't mend them with _Brackium Emendo_, not with this degree of bone fracture. Anger welled up inside him, both for the monsters who did this to an innocent child, and for his own limited skills.

"She needed professional help that I can't provide." Harry said through gritted teeth. "Ask for some disinfectant from one of the redheads around; it's a purple liquid that burns and stings, but it's better than nothing for now. Take the painkiller too, it's Muggle-manufactured and she'll need it."

"Sorry about this, young fellow," A hand grabbed Harry from behind and practically tossed him aside. Harry looked up, surprised, but the figure was already kneeing beside the girl. He was clad in a lime-green robe, adorned by a crossed wand-and-bone symbol: the emblem of St. Mungo's, the premiere magical hospital of Wizarding Britain.

As he watched, a dozen more mediwitches and mediwizards arrived on the scene. Two of them raced to the girl's side, softly chanting spells, while their colleague dug into his bag and pulled out salves and potions. Harry could feel relief overcoming him, and Prongs seemed to glow even brighter: she's saved, they're saved, and they're all going to be alright—

It was only then that he noticed his legs shaking. They felt as if they had lost all strength; Harry couldn't stand up. But it's okay.

"Are you alright?" George appeared by his side and pulled him to his feet. Fred, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were just behind him, looking tired but beaming at Harry. "Well done, Harry-kin."

"Couldn't have done it without you—all of you." Harry replied with a smile of his own. He then found himself struggling for air.

"Can't—breathe—Hermione—Ginny—"

Ron and the twins laughed, and were quickly joined by Harry and the girls.

A squad of Ministry officials had stopped by and checked on the people congregated here. They left after speaking with the lead Healer and checked on the wounded; they took the Muggle girl once her status was stabilized. Apparently, the rest of her family had been rescued, but their injuries were so severe they were rushed to St. Mungo's. The girl would join them and receive further treatment (as needed) there.

It was a few minutes before Fred suggested their next move.

"The commotion seems to be dying down. Reckon we can get back now?"

"Dad said he'd come and fetch us when he's done, though." Ron pointed out.

"How will he know where we are?" Hermione asked, worry in her voice.

Harry gave Prongs a look. A number of people gasped in surprise as the stag Patronus disappeared; Harry raised his wand to his lips. "We're going back to the tent." He muttered and recalled Dumbledore's instruction. "_Expecto Patronum_."

Prongs did not reappear immediately; instead a silvery wisp flew out of Harry's wand towards the south. Harry turned to the rest of his friends. "There we go."

The twins exchanged a look. "The excitement never stops." George began.

"Where did you learn that?" Fred demanded.

"For that matter, how do you know the Patronus Charm?" George continued.

"I would like to know, too." An unfamiliar voice cut in, causing everyone to jump. Ron and Hermione jumped to Harry's side almost immediately, wands already out.

"Who's there?" Harry demanded as the rest of them drew their wands. Was someone hiding…or under an Invisibility Cloak? Harry squinted as he thought he caught something, an outline…

"You're good, Potter, better than I expected." The voice said with a note of approval. Harry felt that the man (actually, whoever it was put an altering charm on his or her voice, so he could only assume it to be a man) meant them no harm; after all, he needn't have spoken up if he really wanted to eavesdrop. Harry lowered his arm, but he kept looking—trying to find a hint, a sign of the mystery man.

"What do you want?" Harry asked the air to his right.

But the man had moved again. "Just checking on you lot." The voice paused before continuing on Harry's left side. "Bill and Charlie are injured, but nothing serious. You should go now; I'll watch your back."

"Can you trust this…person?" Hermione whispered urgently. The others were eyeing him as well.

Harry had his doubts, too, but the way he saw it, the man did have the element of surprise but give up the advantage. Besides, it wasn't as if they know how to find him either. How could they find an invisible man?

Actually…

"_Aguamenti_!" He shouted, waving his wand so that the water splashed over an area to his right.

There was a CRACK, and then another—the sounds of short-range Apparation. "Not the best idea, but it worked." The mystery man's voice was farther away, farther than Harry's water spell could reach. "I look forward to seeing you again, Potter."

And with one last CRACK the man was gone.

A/N: Events in this chapter take place on August 25th-26th, 1994.


	9. Actions and Consequences

Disclaimer: I do not own Amelia Bones.

Chapter-09: Actions and Consequences

"There you are! Oh thank Merlin!" Mr. Weasley all but ran over to the group of youngsters. He found himself in a tight hug from the twins, Ron and Ginny a second later. "Can't—breathe—boys—Ginny—"

Harry and Hermione grinned as the younger Weasleys released their father. The older man's expression turned serious as he gestured at several red-robed wizards, who joined them. The leading one, a tall man with a mane of tawny hair, studied Harry's face for a moment before speaking.

"Rufus Scrimgeour, Auror Office. How do you do." His tone was all business, his handshakes firm but quick. "We found something at the crime scene, something that Arthur thought he recognized."

He reached into his robes, but what he pulled out was not exactly something Harry expected. "A rubber ducky?"

The twins were not smiling, however. George paled as Fred spoke up.

"That's one of our products, a WWW fake wand." The boys all but snatched the ducky from Scrimgeour's hands. George looked up. "We need to use magic, to test something."

The red-robed wizard nodded, and Fred whipped out his wand. He muttered an incantation and tapped the ducky; it transformed back into a wand with a low 'pop'.

Harry swore under his breath as he recognized the wand. "George," he said, "that's the one I brought from the Burrow, the one I played with all day today."

Scrimgeour turned his yellowish eyes on him again. "Yours, Mr. Potter? Are you certain about this?"

"Fred and George just finished fine-tuning the charm on the fake wands; they haven't really gone into production yet. I'm pretty certain that's mine." Harry knew that he was practically implicating himself, but he couldn't let the twins get into trouble because of him. He searched his memory. "I don't know how it got to whatever crime scene you are talking about, though. The last time I played with it was just before the Quidditch Final; I don't remember seeing it or playing with it afterwards."

The group of Aurors exchanged a few muttered words before Scrimgeour continued with his questions, now concentrating on Harry. "Where were you tonight during the riot?"

"In the woods, hiding from the rioters." Harry answered calmly, fearless green eyes meeting Scrimgeour's yellow ones. "Several people were wounded, and as a Healer trainee I decided to assist them."

"May I check your wand then, Mr. Potter?" Scrimgeour's tone was commanding, despite fashioning his words as a question. Harry evaluated his options, but quickly realized he had no choice—and really, no need to refuse.

"_Prior Incantato_." The man prodded Harry's wand with his own. There was a shade of a stream of liquid, a flash of silvery light; and then a phantom floating face with several cuts, which were closed and healed as they watched. Several miniature human shapes and a floating, bodiless arm with a deep wound… "_Deletrius_."

Scrimgeour was staring at Harry again, but while the older man remained unreadable in Harry's eyes, the hard, cold look in those yellowish eyes were gone. "Your story checked out."

"Are you surprised, sir?" Harry was perhaps a little more reckless in his response. A hint of disapproval entered Scrimgeour's voice.

"Given the circumstances, your use of underage magic is deemed a reasonable act in a time of emergency. We must ask you not to make a habit of it, however, Mr. Potter." He said after a long moment, as if phrasing his words very carefully. He also took the fake wand from Fred. "We're keeping this for now, as evidence found in a crime scene."

Giving Mr. Weasley a quick nod, he marched away with his cohorts. Mr. Weasley sighed tiredly.

"Let's go inside, it's getting cold." He told the youngsters, who obliged. Their tent had not been touched, by fire or otherwise; Percy was standing watch at the entrance at the moment, and had observed the short interrogation by Scrimgeour. The two older Weasley brothers were inside, tending to their injuries: Bill had a bloody nose, and Charlie's arm was still bleeding profusely. Harry pulled out the bottle of dittany immediately.

"Here, allow me," he said quickly, putting a few drops of the brown liquid on the wound. Charlie winced but said nothing, and Harry couldn't help but be impressed; the essence of dittany was very effective, but it _really_ stung. Then again, Charlie was a Quidditch player and a dragon handler; he was probably no stranger to pain. Harry proceeded to bandage the wound and gave him a blood-replenishing potion, just in case. He took a look at Bill's nose as well, but the bleeding had already stopped and the damage healed. Bill thanked him anyway.

"Thank you, Healer Potter," Fred and George said together in a sing-song voice as Harry put away his bag. Harry simply rolled his eyes.

"Honestly, you did really well." Hermione said as Ron and Ginny passed around cups of reheated cocoa. Mr. Weasley frowned slightly. Harry sighed, knowing it was coming, and pre-empted the question by spending the next few minutes telling the adult Weasleys what happened in the woods.

"The rest of you did not do any magic, did you?" The Weasley patriarch asked once he's done. Hermione and the underage Weasleys answered in the negative.

"It was a reasonable use of underage magic, Father." Percy spoke up afterwards. "I doubt they will press charges."

"Charges? He's a hero!" Hermione said, indignant.

"If nothing else, the reverse-spells will only confirm their story—defensive and medical spells." Bill piped up. "You'll be fine, Harry."

"I'm curious about our invisible mystery man, though." Mr. Weasley said thoughtfully. "I doubt he had any ill intentions, but just the same…"

They all pondered for a minute before Harry changed the subject.

"So what happened to the rest of you? What about those rioters—the Death Eaters?" Harry asked the question that was on his and his underage fellows' mind. The adult Weasleys exchanged a look.

"Are you sure you want to talk about this now, Harry? It's a long story, and it is very late after all." Mr. Weasley said finally.

Harry gave the rest of the group a quick look. He really didn't want to keep everyone up for long—but he wanted, nay needed, to know.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley." He steeled his resolve. "Please."

"Very well."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Mr. Weasley whipped off his glasses and polished them, slowly and carefully, before putting them back on and beginning his tale.

"I should start with the Death Eaters. They were You-Know-Who's followers; whether it was for shared ideologies, for the sake of power, or just because they enjoyed the murder and pillaging. The most fanatical ones were killed or captured in the wake of You-Know-Who's downfall, but the rest got off through various means: lack of evidence, and the like."

"Like Malfoy's father." Ron said darkly.

"He, like many others, claimed to be under the Imperius Curse the entire time. Around the time of his trial, a very generous donation was made to St. Mungo's Hospital." Mr. Weasley's voice was humourless.

"Bribery." Harry said with disgust. Mr. Weasley nodded.

"The alleged Death Eaters know that despite their claims, they will still be under scrutiny. They are quiet and very careful, although suspicious deaths come up from time to time—a Muggleborn here, a Muggle family there—but never anything concrete.

"Which brings us back to the events tonight, the riot of the Death Eaters.

"I don't know if it was a spur-of-a-moment thing, perhaps some kind of drunken debauchery that led to the riot tonight. I hope it was; but I doubt it. The masks, the cloaks, the group action—it was too co-ordinated. Reconstructing events through testimony from witnesses, it was nearly midnight when the Robertses—the Muggle camp manager and his family—were attacked and their house burnt to the ground. The rioters then made their way through the grounds, randomly attacking people and setting tents on fire. Ministry officials and a squad of Aurors showed up to stop them, but with all the bystanders around and the Robertses held hostage we didn't dare confront them directly."

"What are Aurors?" Hermione interrupted. Harry knew, having looked it up after his talk with Dumbledore, but the eldest Weasley son beat him to it.

"The elite force and most militarized arm of magical law enforcement; they deal directly with Dark activities. Rufus Scrimgeour is the current Head." Bill answered. Hermione gave a nod and Mr. Weasley continued.

"They were at a stalemate when one of the levitated Muggles, a girl, was dropped. The Aurors had to attack then, in order to save the rest of the Robertses. Then the Dark Mark appeared."

Hermione gasped; no doubt she had read of it before.

"The Skull-and-the-Snake: it was the symbol of You-Know-Who. The rest of you were not even born, or too young then, you have no idea the terror it inspired back in the war. People dreaded the sight of it, floating above their houses or a house of a love one… the Death Eaters sent it into the sky whenever they murder someone. This time, however, it had a strange effect. It was the Death Eaters who fled upon seeing it."

"If they were really Death Eaters, then why did they run from it?" Ron asked, frowning.

"Consider this carefully, Ronald. Those Death Eaters stayed out of jail, but they never looked for their Master, either. They thought him dead. What do you think he would do to them, if he's returned?" Percy replied.

"Wait, so… there may be a third party involved." Harry took a moment to organize his thoughts. "Someone else cast the Mark, then? Did you catch the perpetrator?"

"Here's where things got complicated, Harry." Mr. Weasley got back on the narrative. "We did find someone, but rather than answers, we got even more questions."

"Who was it?" The adolescences asked together.

"Ludo Bagman and Mr. Crouch's House-elf, a little thing called Winky. The one you saw earlier today in the Top Box." Mr. Weasley was met with six disbelieving stares. "Ludo was stunned and had no memories of the last few hours; preliminary diagnosis showed that his memory had been tampered with. Winky was by his side, and what's more, she was caught with his wand in her hand. It was an offence for an elf to have a wand, or even just to pick one up from the ground. And it got worse: the wand was used to cast the Dark Mark and a memory charm."

"Bagman?" Fred whispered. "Did he… was he...?"

"This is the difficult part; we have no way to tell exactly what happened, not even with Priori Incantato. Ludo might've been made to cast the spell, then obliviated with his own wand; or he was attacked, his wand used to conjure the Mark, and he was obliviated afterwards to hide his attacker's identity."

"Could he have cast the Mark willingly, then obliviated himself and pretend to be a victim?" Harry asked. Mr. Weasley had an odd look on his face.

"Ludo Bagman is not a Death Eater, and besides, this is too risky a plan to implement. Memory charms are very delicate things, as you two very well know." This last bit was addressed to Ron and Harry, who winced; they remembered Gilderoy Lockhart more vividly than they'd like. "We've already sent him to St. Mungo's, to see if the memory can be recovered, but the Aurors on the scene said that whoever it was, did a pretty thorough job."

"What happened to the poor elf, then?" asked Hermione, concern in her voice. "They don't think she did it, do they?"

"An elf should not be able to cast the Dark Mark, no," Mr. Weasley told her. "In fact, only Death Eaters know the spell. But just the same, the fact that she was found with a stolen wand at a crime scene… it brought great shame to the family. And Barty Crouch is a very strict, by-the-book kind of man. He had to let her go."

Hermione blinked in confusion. Harry could almost hear the gears turning in her head. "Let her go… free? Like Harry did with Dobby?"

Mr. Weasley obviously knew that story; he was there when it happened, after all. "Yes and no. Dobby is… unusual, in that he wanted to be free. Most house-elves are horrified at the idea, however, and Winky is one of them. It is the greatest punishment a master can give an elf. Winky was hysterical when we left, the poor thing." He shook his head sadly.

"So there was a riot, and Death Eaters were involved; but they all escaped upon seeing the Dark Mark, conjured by yet another unknown party, very possibly another Death Eater, who assaulted a high-ranking Ministry official." George summarized. "And to top it off, you didn't catch anyone."

"And an innocent House-elf is disowned." Hermione added hotly. Ron rolled his eyes.

"I'm quite glad I don't have work tomorrow," Mr. Weasley admitted.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Ten very tired people went to their beds after that. Not even Hermione could sustain her outrage for long; Ginny had nodded off before the conversation had ended, and only woke up enough to follow the older girl back to their tent.

"When your mother hears about this—this is huge news, after all—she will be worried sick. We'll get a couple hours of sleep, and hopefully catch an early Portkey tomorrow." Mr. Weasley told them at the end of their meeting.

Harry climbed back into his bunk bed with a lot on his mind. It was only a few hours, but he felt as if he had been gone for a life time. He had witnessed an attack by Voldemort's former followers. And were they "former" followers? Harry couldn't help but remember the dream he had a mere three nights ago; the Dark Lord, his parents' murderer, was near. Were the events linked?

Harry rubbed his scar gingerly. He had looked up information about curse scars during the summer, for a reason other than homework. He was curious—really, who wouldn't?—about the lightning-bolt scar that made him instantly-recognizable in the Wizarding World. He had been told that the scar was the mark left behind by a rebounded killing Curse, but…

Harry sat up abruptly in his bunk bed, and narrowly avoided hitting the canvas, for the second time in the same night.

That meeting in Hogsmeade with Dumbledore and Pomfrey… he had told them of his strange dream and his stinging scar, and Dumbledore had accepted Harry's words so readily…yet he made no mention of the scar. Was it deliberate on his part? Or did he deem it unimportant? Harry doubt the old man simply _forgot_. Harry was certain then, and now still, that the two were somehow related.

He would be back to school soon—not tomorrow, of course, but he had exams within a week's time—and he could hardly wait.

He wanted answers. And he _would_ have them.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Mr. Weasley woke them all up around six the next day. There were few protests this time; the mood was sober, and they all dressed quickly before Mr. Weasley packed the tents away. Harry could see that many other campers were up and about already: people were not eager to stay, what with the end of the World Cup and the riot last night. They passed the burnt remains of a cottage on their way, and Mr. Weasley told them that it was the Robertses' home.

"It'll be alright," the Ministry employee assured them. "St. Mungo's will fix them up, and we will have their house rebuilt in no time."

Just the same, Harry felt a flash of anger inside him.

There were a lot of witches and wizards at the designated Portkey-site; like the Weasley group, they all wanted to get away quickly. Mr. Weasley booked for a Portkey and was told to get in the queue; it would be another hour before the Portkey was ready, however.

"I wonder if the Diggorys are around somewhere," Harry told Ron and Hermione while they waited in the line. "Do you think there's some way to find them? And maybe Mr. Lovegood, too."

Mr. Weasley overheard them and interjected. "I was talking to Basil over there," he said, gesturing at one of the very busy wizards checking papers and passing Portkeys about, "he said the Diggorys left about an hour ago. Old Xeno is probably still around here somewhere, collecting stories from eye-witnesses. It was a big story after all."

The return trip took them to Stoatshead Hill again; thankfully, Bill kept Harry from falling to his backside this time around. The walk through Ottery St. Catchpole back to the Burrow was uneventful, but part of it might have been hunger and exhaustion as well; even the normally energetic twins seemed sullen and subdued.

Mrs. Weasley was there to greet them when they arrived. She almost dropped her wand in the soup, but recovered quickly.

"Oh, thank goodness you're safe!" She shrilled as she hugged every member of her family, plus Harry and Hermione. There was a _Daily Prophet _on the kitchen table, TERROR AT THE WORLD CUP! being the headline. A picture of the floating Dark Mark over treetops took up half the page: the gigantic skull floating in mid-air, with a slithering snake as its 'tongue'. While Mr. Weasley was being interrogated by his wife, Bill opened the newspaper and began reading it. Percy was at his side, a scowl forming slowly as he went through the main article.

"Ministry blunders… Dark Wizards attack Muggles and got away with it… National disgrace…" Bill read aloud. Mr. Weasley frowned.

"Let me guess—Rita Skeeter."

Bill nodded in the affirmative. "This is, what, her fourth anti-Ministry article in two weeks?"

"You're not going to like this, Father, but you're mentioned." Percy said, distaste evident in his voice. Mrs. Weasley looked up in surprise. "Not by name, Mother, that's why you didn't notice."

Mr. Weasley took the paper and read the passage Percy indicated. ""_Ministry official refused to admit number of casualties… rumours that several bodies were removed from the woods…_" He grunted in annoyance. "Of course I refused to comment, I didn't know how many people were injured! Several bodies… if there weren't rumours before there certainly will be plenty now that the _Prophet_'s printed that."

He exchanged a dark look with Percy, who nodded. "We'll have to go to the office today, Molly. This is a huge mess, and I better go and explain things over."

All of them had breakfast, but they ate without much gusto; the Weasley matriarch was the only one who had more than five hours' sleep the previous night. Mr. Weasley and Percy Apparated to the Ministry shortly after, while the rest of the Quidditch World Cup group slept through most of the afternoon.

Harry found himself waking up late in the afternoon in an empty Burrow. It turned out that Mrs. Weasley brought Hermione, Ginny and him to the village for groceries. Bill, Charlie and the twins were out flying, and Charlie asked to use Harry's Firebolt and try out the Wronski Feint.

Harry sat under one of the trees in the orchard, watching the four Weasleys fly about. If things were otherwise, he might've joined them and had a good time, his troubles pushed out of his mind, forgotten; but things _weren't _otherwise. He was too young to think about this before, but now he couldn't help but wonder why he never noticed the big questions. For instance, why did Voldemort attacked him when he was barely one? Why was the Philosopher's Stone so poorly hidden, that a few first-year students beat them and almost gained the alchemical artefact? These and about a thousand more questions were popping into Harry's head, even now, and he should have concentrated on his schoolwork…

_Oh, drat. _Harry thought. His Arithmancy exam was coming up in three days and the unofficial Introductory Medicine exam in four. He needed to focus, keep his eyes on the Snitch, so to speak. With great reluctance, he climbed to his feet and returned to Ron's room, where he's currently sharing with his best friend. Crookshanks was napping on Ron's bed and purred at his approach, but it was the other animal that caught Harry's attention.

"Hedwig!" Harry greeted his beloved pet happily. The snowy owl, for her part, nibbled his fingers affectionately, before lifting one of her legs. Harry tore off the attached letter carefully and quickly, and unfolded the note within.

_Harry,_

_We're on our way. _

_The Circus of Canines_

_P.S. Can you send Dumbledore the same message, as well? We don't have time to look for another owl._

Harry was disappointed by the extremely short message, but felt slightly better when he reminded himself that he would be able to see and speak with Sirius and Remus soon. He pondered about Sirius' condition, both physically and mentally, and decided that his stockpile of rations could be put to good use, even after his return to Hogwarts. Harry wrote a quick note for the Headmaster and sent Hedwig on her way again, apologizing to her for another trip so soon. He half wished that he could go with the bird as she flew off, but a talk with the old wizard had to wait. Wondering what Ron would say upon his return, Harry pulled out his Arithmancy notes and began revising.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The next few days passed fairly quickly for Harry. Mr. Weasley and Percy were away at the Ministry and neither made it to dinner in time three nights in a roll; according to a very tired Mr. Weasley, that reporter from the _Daily Prophet_ continued her printed siege on the government ferociously. Rita Skeeter had broken another story on Wednesday. Apparently a Ministry employee had been missing for nearly a month while traveling aboard, yet no one had sounded the alarm and looked for her. The paper did not mention it, but Percy told them that the missing witch, one Bertha Jorkins, was part of the Department of International Magical Co-operation and served under Mr. Crouch.

"I have been assigned to the DIMC and help Mr. Crouch, at least until Bertha comes back." Percy said as he devoured his soup and rolls. "I'm rewriting that dreadful report she wrote on cauldron bottoms. Do you know how the lack of an international standard led to increase of leakage, breaks, and the like in Britain every year? And that led to the lowering of qualities in potions, particularly medical-grade ones, which—"

"Do us a favour, Perce," said Bill as he looked up from his end of the table. "Shut up and eat."

Harry didn't like Bill's tone of voice, but he agreed with the sentiment. It was hard enough to revise with just the ambient noise of ten people in a small house, and he could feel a migraine coming on. Charlie, the twins, Ron and Ginny were not helping things; they were playing Exploding Snap in the living room, after an irritated Mrs. Weasley chased them out of the kitchen. Hermione was helping him and Bill, who studied Arithmancy back in his Hogwarts years, joined them and gave pointers of his own. They were on the last chapter when Mr. Weasley returned, looking fatigued after a long day. Ignoring the reheated dinner his wife set for him, the Weasley patriarch made a beeline for Harry, who looked up in alarm.

"Something wrong, Dad?" Bill asked, pre-empting Harry's question. Mr. Weasley shook his head as Ron drifted over, concerned.

"Not exactly, although you won't like it either: Skeeter found out about Harry's little adventure during the World Cup." The man continued in a soothing tone. "Scrimgeour kept to the facts in his report, but just the same, Amelia Bones is being pressured to start an investigation. I told them of your upcoming exams, and the interview is re-scheduled accordingly."

Harry stared at the piece of parchment the patriarch put into his palm.

_Mr. H. J. Potter_

_This is a summons for an interview, for the circumstances under which you performed underage magic. Please report to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic on the thirtieth of August, 1994, at two o'clock in the afternoon._

_Regards,_

_A.S. Bones_

_Director of DMLE_

With this last bit of news Harry could feel the full force of the migraine. He settled for a short-term cure—and knocked his head on the table.

"Oh bloody Merlin."

A/N: Events in this chapter take place between August 26th and 28th, 1994.


	10. Meeting at the Ministry

Disclaimer: I do not own Nymph—I mean, Tonks. Just Tonks.

Chapter-10: Meeting at the Ministry

Harry did not sleep well that night.

The Weasley patriarch had assured him that no, he wasn't a suspect and it wouldn't be anything like a criminal investigation, that Madam Bones only wanted to hear his side of the story; just the same, it was not every day that he had a run-in with the law. He could hardly do any more revision afterwards, aided and abetted by the migraine that, for once, was not centered on his scar.

He knew what the consequence might be, and had chosen to do what was right that night. It was just that he thought everything had been sorted out with Scrimgeour already. And he really didn't need the rest of the Wizarding World breathing down his neck for this; it was bad enough as it was with the whole Boy-Who-Lived business.

_Be a Gryffindor about it, Potter, _he told himself as he prepare for bed. _You did what was _right_. And you have more immediate things to worry about._

As if things weren't bad enough, Bill and Charlie insisted on going to Hogwarts with Harry the next day, his protests falling on deaf ears. While they said they just want to accompany him and see the school, Harry knew better; they were his bodyguards. He didn't know why it was necessary, seeing as they Apparated directly to the school's front gate anyway.

He was mildly surprised when he found a certain brunette waiting for him there.

"Auntie told me about what happened at the World Cup, and your interview tomorrow," Susan Bones said, concern in her voice. It was hardly a secret, really, thanks to that Skeeter woman and the _Daily Prophet_ breaking the news this morning. Harry gave his classmate from Hufflepuff House a weary nod before she continued. "She asked me about you, actually. What you're like as a person, and such."

He really wasn't in the mood for this right now. "I'm sorry, Sue, but can we talk about this _after_ the test?" He said in a tired voice.

She gave him a look that turned into an almost flirtatious smile. "Only if you're buying lunch."

Harry groaned loudly as they entered the classroom. Professor Vector raised an eyebrow at the two, but made no comment; she was already collecting everyone's final Arithmancy essays and handing out the exam papers. Grumpily, Harry returned to the task at hand.

Susan finished her exam almost twenty minutes before he did. Looking back, Harry thought he did alright under the circumstances, although not as well as he hoped. He certainly could have done better with the theoretical questions, but the mathematical part was a breeze, if he might say so himself. Then again, he had an excellent study partner in Susan and a decent tutor in Hermione. Harry handed in his paper with ten minutes to spare. He said his goodbyes to Professor Vector, who told him to enjoy the last few days of his summer break, as the exam results wouldn't come out until he returned to school on September First.

Harry was thinking ahead to his next exam when Susan called his name.

"So where should we go?" She asked, catching up to him as they walked down the stairs towards the main hall.

"I'm on a tight schedule, what with another exam tomorrow, and I have two bodyguards to deal with." Harry answered, quickly telling her of his current traveling arrangement. "I can't even go to Diagon Alley for my books and things; the Weasleys are doing the shopping for me."

"Poor Harry," the brunette said teasingly. She knew better than to press it, though. "In that case, I claim the first Hogsmeade weekend of the school year."

"Fine." Harry sighed, ceding the battle. "I daresay I can clear my extremely busy schedule for you." She beamed at him.

Charlie and Bill were waiting for him at the entrance to the great hall. Susan waited till the two Weasleys were within earshot before pulling Harry to a stop.

"I look forward to it." She grinned, and planted a quick kiss on the boy's cheek before he could utter a word. "It's a date."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

While Bill and Charlie teased him mercilessly, they were not the rumourmongers the twins were; Harry thanked the gods for small favours. Charlie offered (more like threatened, in Harry's opinion) to give him The Talk, though; fortunately Bill was there and considerate enough to tell off his younger brother. The three of them returned to the Burrow shortly after, where the group of adolescences, plus Mrs. Weasley, had been to Diagon Alley and back already. Ron didn't seem too happy for some reason.

"What's up?" Harry asked his best friend as they set the table for lunch. Ron scowled.

"Something's coming up at school, something big, and Mum's got us all dress robes for the occasion. Except that they're all from the second-hand shop and look horrible. Mine was a maroon set with bloody lace frills and cuffs." He shuddered at the memory. Harry wondered what horror awaits him in his room until Ron gave him a look and sighed. "Don't worry; mum got you a bottle-green set that looked just like our school robes. You'll be fine."

"He threatened to go naked rather than wear them." Hermione, who just sent off Troy with a letter for her parents, cut in with a smirk. "Mrs. Weasley wanted pictures."

After lunch, Harry got some unexpected help for his second exam: Mrs. Weasley, who had more than twenty years' worth of experience patching up Weasleys, had more than a passing knowledge of healing charms and medical potions. He was thankful for her help; if anything, it distracted him from thoughts of a certain brunette Hufflepuff. The girls were discussing the merit of Muggle Studies. Hermione recommended it, but Ginny wasn't sure how useful it would be as she hardly ever interacted with Muggles in general and wasn't interested in the Muggle world like her father was. Meanwhile Ron sat with Charlie, chatting about Quidditch while the older brother darned his fireproof balaclava. The twins were sitting in the farthest corner together, whispering and seemingly arguing as they wrote something down; Harry idly wondered if they were writing out a new WWW product form.

He was once again assigned two companions for his excursion to Hogsmeade on Saturday morning. Bill and Percy dropped him off at the Healer Office and told him they would be back by noon before wandering off. Madam Pomfrey was already waiting for him.

While Introductory Medicine wasn't a standard Hogwarts subject Harry got a final that, according to Madam Pomfrey, was similar to OWL exams in format, with both a written and a practical component. As it contained material from the sixth and seventh-year curriculum covering Herbology, Potions, DADA and Charms, Harry found the written section quite challenging, though not as tedious as he feared. The practical part was no walk in the park either, but recent events had given him quite a boost in confidence. Harry was please to see a tiny nod of approval coming from Pomfrey at the end of the exam.

"I have to admit, Mr. Potter, that the level of skill and knowledge you displayed exceeds my expectations. I will be quite happy to take you on for further training during the school year, alongside my sixth- and seventh-year students." The school nurse told him half an hour later, as the two sat down for tea. She gave him a sharp, calculating look before she began.

"What did I tell you about not taking stupid, unnecessary risks?" She said as she pulled an old copy of the _Daily Prophet _from the desk drawer. Harry knew it to be the Friday edition before she even unfolded it; he had really grown to hate that paper and a certain reporter in particular.

"_Blind Eye for Boy Hero? More Mishaps for Ministry _by Rita Skeeter." Pomfrey read the headline aloud, keeping her eyes on Harry and gauging his reaction. He was not amused, to put it lightly.

"I know my use of magic is unjustifiable; it was, after all, only a Death Eater attack. I've faced Voldemort before without it, right?" He tried to put as much sarcasm into his words as he could. Pomfrey winced horribly at the mention of the Dark Lord's name, but he ignored her. "Those people weren't dying either; I really should refrain from helping people just because I could. I'll keep that in mind in the future."

She gave him an exasperated look. "Actually, I was going to say that you did well, and that I am quite proud of you. A few of my friends from St. Mungo's wrote me about what a good job you did." The corner of her mouth twitched slightly as his face reddened. "And I am sure you have enough trouble as it is, with an appointment at the Ministry in the afternoon."

"Yes ma'am." Harry mumbled.

"Frankly, Harry, I was worried that it was a spur-of-the-moment idea of yours, that your enthusiasm will cool during the summer and this will be all for naught."

"I did learn a lot, far more than I expected, with you this summer. What's more, I found that I like the idea of being a Healer. It's a noble profession." He was quite glad for a change of subject. Pomfrey gave him a glare, but after spending two months training with her Harry was largely immune to it.

"I just want you to look inside yourself, and see if this really is something you want to do with your life. You're barely fourteen; you may have a change of heart in a few years. I don't want to see you regret wasting years of your life in a profession that you didn't like."

"Is this part of the exam—a kind of character and aptitude test, or something?" Harry smiled, although there was no humour in his eyes.

"Consider this career advice two years early, if you want." Pomfrey shrugged. Harry lowered his head thoughtfully.

"I have been through a lot in my fourteen years—too much, too often, in fact—and I have to fight for my life more than a few times. I have a Dark Lord after me, a Dark Lord who stubbornly refuses to die. I don't know how long or short my life may be." Pomfrey paled as he continued empathically. "I want to see something other than fighting, other than Voldemort, in my life. I want to do something _worthwhile_."

Pomfrey stared into her cup for a long while before finding her voice. "You will." Strength and determination entered her voice as she looked up and directly into his brilliant green eyes, so full of life. "And I will do everything I can to ensure you get that chance."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry wished he could visit the Ministry of Magic under different circumstances; being summoned for an interview by the DMLE had to be one of the worst reasons for a first visit. Then again, at least he wasn't—

He perished that thought before it could be fully formed. This was, after all, only an interview, he told himself. He wasn't being charged anything. Everything would be fine. Just the same, he slipped his hand into his pocket and touched his wand, as if to sooth himself with its presence.

Bill and Percy took him to the Ministry of Magic after a quick lunch at Hogsmeade. He was told that the Ministry was a large, underground complex in the heart of London, but it was difficult to believe as he stood in the middle of the long, high-ceilinged and well-decorated hall ("The Atrium," Percy told him). There were only a few people milling about, probably just coming in or leaving after working overtime; it was a Saturday after all. Harry could see gilded fireplaces lined all the way down the two walls, but given the low volume of traffic today most of them were not lit.

At the center of the Atrium was a large circular fountain. There was a group of golden statues in the middle: a witch and a wizard stood side by side, a centaur and a goblin flanking the two, and a house-elf farther behind them, as if trailing the entire group. Harry looked up at the statues and felt unease rising up inside him: he suddenly realized that he was more nervous than he dared admit.

"So that's the Fountain of Magical Brethren?" Bill muttered, eyeing the golden statues with distaste and breaking Harry out of his trance. "I like the color, though, makes it looks like a right piece of sh—"

"—I quite agree that it sorely lacks artistic value, William," Percy interjected before his brother could finish. He directed the group towards the security wizard, who checked in Bill and Harry as visitors. They talked of the Fountain as they rode the lift to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on level two. Apparently, it was a gift from certain individuals who were having trouble with the law at the time; they were let out of prison with the lightest of sentences.

"Bribery and corruption in all levels of the government." Harry said with a scowl.

"The current Minister's tenure was actually considered an improvement. Although personally I think we have Bones, Scrimgeour and Diggory to thank for. They are very different people but the big three of the DMLE share several important traits: they are fair, strict, and quite incorruptible." Percy lowered his voice. "Frankly, they keep Fudge on his toes."

Harry gave the third Weasley brother a long look. He seemed so different from the pompous prefect (and later Head Boy) back from school. That boy was very ambitious, rule-abiding, and looked up to authorities; this _man_ was much more critical, even cynical at times. Maybe it had something to do with his job at the Ministry? Maybe it was not at all what he expected?

"Do you like your job, Percy?" He asked tentatively.

Percy raised an eyebrow at the question. "I do."

He didn't elaborate, although it might have to do with the fact that they had arrived at the Department of Magical Enforcement; Harry made a mental note to get to know the third Weasley brother better as they walked through the door. A young, orange-haired woman watched them from the welcome desk; her eyes widened when she realized who the non-redhead was.

"Appointment at two for Harry Potter." Percy said curtly. Harry caught the name on the badge she was wearing: N. Tonks, Auror/T.

Was it his imagination, or did the woman's eyes just turn green? The woman gathered her wits and began leafing through her notebook. "Harry J. Potter, interview for underage use of magic." She looked up questioningly. "As he is underage, he should be accompanied by his legal guardian."

"His legal guardians are Muggles; I, Percy I. Weasley, have obtained their consent and will serve as a Wizarding proxy at this time." Now this was an unexpected development. Harry opened his mouth but Bill put an arm on his shoulder.

"Let Percy handle this." He muttered as his brother pulled out some documents to Tonks. The Auror examined it carefully before giving a quick nod and leading them towards one of the conference rooms.

"Director Bones will be here momentarily." She said as she opened the door. Percy and Harry entered but Bill remained outside the room.

"Not that you need it, Harry, but good luck." He smiled encouragingly.

Auror Tonks returned with Madam Bones exactly one minute later. The Director had obviously been informed and was thus unsurprised at Percy's presence. Tonks sat at the corner with a quill and a roll of parchment at the ready.

"This is not a formal hearing and you are not being charged anything, Mr. Potter, so relax." Bones gave him a small nod. "The meeting today is to determine if your use of underage magic on the night on August twenty-fifth, 1994 was justifiable or not. You may start with your story and I will ask you a few questions afterwards, if necessary."

So Harry told her of waking up in the middle of the night, what he saw of the riot, going into the woods and encountering the group of injured people, and what he did for them, and why he chose to do so. He made sure to tell the official that the rest of his underage friends did not use magic, however.

The Director nodded at certain points of his narrative, scanning parchments at the same time; Harry wondered if those were the reports made by Scrimgeour and the Aurors from that night. His suspicion was proven correct when she began bombarding him with questions regarding certain details. Harry provided answers to the best of his knowledge, filling in whatever Scrimgeour left out or missed in his report.

The Director was checking her notes while the Auror scribbled furiously at her corner, and for a few minutes there was only the sound of quill scratching parchment in the room. Percy was silent throughout; he was there only to ensure that Harry got a fair interview. Once he was convinced of the Director's fairness he saw no reason to interrupt her, and remained silent throughout the proceedings. The Director shot Harry a piercing stare at the end of an hour's worth of questions.

"Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Potter. While the official decision won't be made until Monday, I can tell you right now that I have decided not to press charges. In fact, I would suggest a recommendation for courageous actions during a crisis."

Any shock he felt was quickly followed by furious embarrassment. "Madam, please," he all but begged, "I have to ask that you don't. I have enough trouble as it is, and I really don't want this fame thing."

He practically spat out the last few words. Bones' expression remained neutral as she pulled out a small pile of parchment from her notes. "I have, in fact, received many letters—Howlers included—written on your behalf after that article in the _Prophet_; many are from the people you treated that night, their families, and even one apiece from the Ambassadors of France and America. I have also a letter from St. Mungo's, signed by the mediwitches and mediwizards that were on the emergency response team that night. They commended your actions and asked that you be allowed leniency, if not outright dismissal of any charges you may face."

Harry knew he must be doing a fair imitation of a tomato right now. Madam Bones softened her tone, if not her expression. "I will respect your decision, and only report that your charges have insufficient grounds to proceed."

"Thank you." Harry let out a sigh of relief. The woman took a few pieces of document from Tonks and asked him to sign them. Harry did so after Percy checked them very carefully and found everything in order.

"There are actually two more items I wish to discuss with you—both of you. Off the records, of course." She gave Tonks a wave, who took the cue and left the room quickly, clutching the stack of parchment as she went. "Scrimgeour also mentioned your involvement with the Dark Mark. More specifically, how a possession of yours ended up at the crime scene."

Harry had been racking his brains about his fake wand ever since that night. "I was quite certain that I had it with me when we went to the Quidditch stadium. I think I still had it all the way till I reached the Top Box, but I'm not sure when it went missing. It might be during the game or after; there was a lot of people celebrating and dancing and moving about as we made our way back."

"Was the wand in your pocket?" Madam Bones asked. He shook his head.

"I think I had it behind my ear. I didn't want to confuse it with my real wand, which _was_ in my pocket."

The Director was thoughtful for a moment. "I have a theory. Whoever it was that stole your fake wand might be the mystery man who sent the Dark Mark in the air. If he—or she—left the wand at the scene, it could get you into a lot of trouble. You're very lucky this time."

Harry paled and nodded. Bones continued after a while. "The other matter I wish to discuss is a warning from Albus Dumbledore. He told me of a vision you had about a week ago."

Harry stared at her blankly. Percy gave him a look. "A vision? Are you a Seer, Harry?"

_Dumbledore told Amelia Bones, yet withheld the information from the Weasleys _was the first thought that entered Harry's mind. It was unlikely to be a matter of trust, he reflected. The Weasleys were obviously trustworthy; it was more likely that the Director was informed for another reason. Perhaps she was an ally, or a potential one? How large is Dumbledore's operation? And how could he sound out the woman in front of him, without drawing the ire of Percy, who was obviously ignorant of the details? Or perhaps he could turn this to his advantage?

"Tell me, what exactly did the Headmaster tell you and your family?" He deflected Percy's question with one of his own. The older wizard narrowed his eyes.

"He said that while Sirius Black may not be a threat we should not let our guards down over anything, and that something has occurred recently which put him on alert over your safety, and we need to watch out for you whenever you're out and about." Percy glared at him with unblinking eyes. "We thought Father and Dumbledore were overreacting at first, but after the Death Eater incident we don't want to take chances. Are you a Seer, Harry?"

"No I'm not," Harry answered, feeling slightly better at finding out about Dumbledore's instructions. Percy's answer was quick and straight-forward, and Harry felt inclined to believe him; there was no reason not to, as far as he could see, anyway. He weighed his options. "I'll need to ask that the two of you to keep our following conversation in this room, however, and that you do not speak of it unless you talk to Professor Dumbledore or me first."

"My family deserves to know." Percy insisted, giving him a stare that could freeze fire.

Harry avoided his gaze. "I agree, but I also believe that the Headmaster had his reasons. How about this: I'll tell you what I know and suspect. If you maintain your position after that, we'll find the Headmaster, persuade him if possible, and confront him if necessary. I have questions of my own, too." He added as an afterthought.

"At least let William in on this." Percy gave some ground.

Harry considered. He wanted to tell all the Weasleys, really, but he's worried that he might ruin whatever Dumbledore was planning. "Fine," he said through clenched teeth, "but he can't tell anyone else, either, until we talk to the Headmaster."

"Very well." Percy answered, knowing this was the best deal he could make. Madam Bones opened the door and called Bill in.

"What's up?" Bill looked at the three wonderingly. They had a grim look, but not confrontational.

"Before we tell you, William, we need you to do a Wizard's Oath. You are not to speak of this to anyone else but Dumbledore or the three of us." Percy said. "Madam Bones and I will do our oaths first."

Madam Bones nodded and cited her oath. Bill, sensing the seriousness of his brother's words, nodded slowly then cited his own. Another magical oath later, Harry revealed to the three of them the dream/vision he had of Voldemort, his discussion with the Headmaster, and his own guesses. Bill and Percy paled noticeably while Bones' expression grew solemn.

"The Department of Mysteries has conducted a number of studies over the years regarding your curse scar, Mr. Potter, and your survival. They have never released their findings; then again, they are called Unspeakables for a reason. Albus, however, believes that it might have given you a kind of connection with the Dark Lord." She said after a moment of silence.

"I have never read or heard of a Potter being a parselmouth, Harry, and I have studied genealogy for a project back in school." Percy added. They spent a few minutes telling Bill and Madam Bones of the events of Harry's second year, the whole business with the Heir of Slytherin and the basilisk (they were at once intrigued and horrified). "Could this be the reason to you having the ability?"

"So he transferred some of his powers into me? That's…difficult to believe." Harry was sceptical. Dumbledore might have mentioned that before but Harry was fast becoming critical of the old wizard's explanations.

"Regardless, the fact that Death Eaters made a re-appearance at such a time—I doubt it was a coincidence." Madam Bones said forcefully. "Albus is right; we have to look into this right away."

"I will write the Headmaster immediately, to offer the service of myself and my family." Bill said with a serious look. "And I'm glad that you alerted the Headmaster so quickly. It is better to be safe than sorry; that may be the difference between life and death, victory and defeat."

Harry could feel his throat tighten. These people barely knew him, but they trusted him, and were willing to stand by him. "Thank you. To all of you."

The mood was grim, with the prospect of a Dark Lord's return looming over them; but there was also a spark of hope in the room. Voldemort had not yet returned to full strength, Bones opined, otherwise he would have made a move already. There just might still be a chance to stop him, along with the war that would certainly break out upon his return.

"Be careful, and stay safe, Mr. Potter. And know this: you do not bear the burden alone. This is as much our fight as it is yours." Bones said as Harry, Bill and Percy rose to depart. "And we will fight with you."

As he walked by the fountain in the Atrium again on his way out, Harry had the same unease he felt before, even though the great weight in his heart seemed to have lessened somewhat with Madam Bones' words. The Weasley brothers were talking in whispers, but Harry knew that they would keep their word. And if answers weren't forthcoming, he would keep his end of his bargain, too.

He had a feeling he would sleep much better tonight.

A/N: Events in this chapter take place between August 29th and 30th, 1994.


	11. Announcements

Disclaimer: I do not own Draco Malfoy.

Chapter-11: Announcements

Harry woke up on Monday morning feeling better than he had all week. The talk at the Ministry had brought him great relief, and he felt revitalized after a good night's sleep. While he would most certainly miss the Burrow and the adult Weasleys, he was going back to his beloved school, and Harry couldn't help but look forward to the new term. The only thing that could dampen his mood was heavy rainfall that had begun late last night; it showed no indication of stopping any time soon.

Everyone had their trunks packed the evening before, partly due to the weather limiting their activities indoors, and partly to stop Mrs. Weasley from nagging at them incessantly. Having depleted much of the supplies in his medical kit, Harry made a deal with the twins to procure more; they would brew more of their potions and salves, and whatever they couldn't make they could get at a bargain price for Harry, thanks to them having good connections and often purchasing their own materials in bulk. Fred even sweetened the deal by throwing in a few WWW products, including a new fake wand; it had taken the place of his old, confiscated one and was now resting comfortably behind Harry's left ear.

He was helping Mrs. Weasley prepare breakfast when the fireplace flashed. He almost dropped his stack of toast at the sight of a head in the green Floo fire. It took a moment before Harry recognized who it was. "Mr. Diggory?"

It was indeed Cedric's father. "Oh hello. Good morning Molly! Is Arthur still here? I need to talk to him, it's Ministry business and it's urgent." He asked the Weasley matriarch, who heard the commotion and came to investigate.

"Oh Amos! Give me a moment." Mrs. Weasley hurried towards the staircase as Hermione and Ginny entered the kitchen. "Arthur! Urgent message from the Ministry!"

Mr. Weasley hurried down the stairs a minute later, followed closely by Ron, Fred and George, who looked about curiously. Harry began buttering his toast as the two Ministry officials discuss their business. Apparently Mr. Weasley's ex-Auror friend, Alastor "Mad-eye" Moody, had a panic attack this morning, and his Muggle neighbours alerted the police. Knowing of the two men's friendship, Amos Diggory warned Mr. Weasley so that he could sort it out quickly and quietly before the wizard got in more trouble.

"Thanks, Amos, I owe you one." Mr. Weasley said as he jolted down Moody's address. Mr. Diggory shook his head.

"Don't mention it. Although if you insist…I won't be partial to some fresh toast." Mrs. Weasley laughed as she fed him a slice of toast using fire tongs. The head in the fire disappeared with a muffled "thanks".

"I'm sorry, Molly, but I have to go." Mr. Weasley apologized after giving his wife a quick kiss. He put on a cloak and prepared to Apparate. "Have a good term, everyone!"

Fortunately, while Percy had to left for work shortly after, Bill and Charlie were still available and helped their mother take their guests and younger siblings to King's Cross Station. Nudging Ron aside, Percy gestured to Harry and the two walked into the living room.

"I've meant to talk to you about the document you got from the Dursleys." Harry started before Percy even opened his mouth. "What was that all about?"

Instead of answering, Percy pulled out his wand and cast several privacy wards first. Only when he was done did he begin.

"I did visit your relatives for that, although I had to…shall I say, edit the truth somewhat. I told them that you ran into trouble with the law and I was a Ministry official that wanted to see you…properly taken care of. They signed the papers before I even finished talking." Percy frowned. "I can't believe you actually have to live with these people."

Harry smiled bitterly then frowned. "For the love of Merlin, Perce, don't ever let others know of this idea. If Voldemort's lackeys actually knew of it..."

The third Weasley brother paled at the Dark Lord's name, but gathered himself. "I couldn't even get close to your house without Dumbledore giving me the go-ahead." He said. "Death Eaters won't have a chance."

"So he controls whoever comes and goes at my relatives' house as well?" Harry grunted. This would be yet another issue he had to tackle when he met with the Headmaster. It had grown into quite a list.

"Listen, I received a missive from Dumbledore." Percy said in a low voice. "He's extremely busy with the big event coming up at Hogwarts—"

"What big event?" Harry interrupted, remembering the dress robes and Ron's words. Percy's lips twitched, as if fighting a smile.

"You'll find out soon enough. After all, you'll be back at school within the day." Harry gave him the Evil Eye but Percy shrugged it off. "I have a situation at work, though. Remember the woman that has been missing for over a month, Bertha Jorkins? The Ministry is finally getting its acts together and sending a task force to look for her. Unfortunately, being the new meat in the DIMC, I have been drafted into the team and will be leaving tomorrow."

Harry cursed under his breath. One of his few allies was being sent away but there was nothing he could do. Percy was not as pessimistic, however.

"We can turn this into an opportunity, though. You-Know-Who's reign of terror had touched Europe as well; perhaps we could persuade the Wizarding governments on the continent to lend help this time around, instead of cowering in terror like before."

Harry thought about it. It sounded like a great idea; Voldemort was a threat to everyone, and the more help they could get the better. Then again, he remembered some of Madam Pomfrey's impromptu history lessons. "You have to be very careful, though. He had allies and sympathizers abroad, too. Be discreet and be safe."

Percy nodded, then held out his hand. Harry took it a moment later, and shook it firmly.

"Good luck." Harry said sincerely.

"And to you." Percy answered.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The trip to King's Cross Station was fairly uneventful, except the beginning, when Fred's trunk exploded just outside the Burrow. Bill and Charlie had to restrain their mother, who found traces of the twins' secret stash of Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks among the remains of the trunk; it was set off by the heavy rainfall. To allow time for Mrs. Weasley's anger to dissipate, Bill and Charlie told amusing anecdotes of Mad-Eye Moody, whom the two of them had met before.

"—the nutter nearly had his buttock blown off!" Bill said as the youngsters all roared in laughter, especially the twins, who were struggling for breath. "And from then onward he always preached about wand safety."

"We learned loads from him, both what to do and what _not_ to do." Charlie finished. Ginny had to lean on her trolley to stop herself from falling over. Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Can you not make a scene in public?" She hissed, embarrassed by the curious and startled stares from the Muggles in the train station. "We don't want to attract extra attention!"

"You worry too much, mum." Bill put an arm around her shoulders as he covered Harry and Ron's entrance into platform nine and three-quarters. Hermione and Ginny entered a moment later, followed by the twins and lastly the adult Weasleys.

The twins left to put George's trunk away, having located Lee Jordan and sharing a compartment with their best friend. Ron found a compartment in the next car. Hermione turned to Ginny and invited her to sit with them.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked Hermione as Ron helped Ginny put her trunk away. She raised an eyebrow.

"Inviting a friend to sit with us?" She said, unconcerned. "It's not like she's a complete stranger, is she, Harry?"

Harry had no good argument against that. He couldn't suggest if she was playing matchmaker for Ginny, now, could he? And was she? "Maybe I should invite Neville in when he comes along."

"You do that," the bushy-haired witch was already pulling out _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4_ and settling in her seat. "But I think he's sitting with Hannah Abbott and the Hufflepuffs. They get along very well, I heard."

Harry thought he saw a hint of a smirk on her face. It disappeared a moment later, however, as the door opened.

"Hello, Harry." A very familiar fourth-year Hufflepuff entered the compartment, dragging her trunk along. "You won't happen to have room in the compartment, would you?"

"I daresay we do, Sue. Let me help you with that." Harry blushed slightly as she gave him a bright smile. The memory of their last meeting floated to the front of his mind. _Just treat her like a friend, a friend is what she is to you, isn't that right Potter?_

Hermione gave them a look but said nothing. His other best friend did, though.

"Susan Bones? Why are you sitting here?" Ron asked, surprised, though not unpleasantly so. "I thought you normally sit with the rest of your House-mates?"

Susan rolled her eyes. "Hannah invited Neville to sit with her and gave away my seat. So I decided to invade a Gryffindor compartment in turn." Ginny giggled and even Hermione had to suppress a smile.

"So the lot of you were at the Quidditch World Cup, right? How was it?" Susan, while not a Quidditch fanatic, held a healthy interest in the Wizarding sport. The boys and Ginny spent the next hour describing the game and various plays, in particular a certain Bulgarian player, to her. Dean and Seamus dropped by after lunch, and they joined the Quidditch talk enthusiastically.

Hermione, uninterested, buried herself in her book again. Susan turned to her. "Professor Vector said that you're one of the best in her classes last year. Why didn't you try and study ahead?"

Harry slapped his forehead. "I meant to ask earlier, but I forgot."

"I don't want to." Hermione lowered her book at their close scrutiny. "I already spent most of my time away at Hogwarts; I really want some quality time with my parents during summer. And besides," her voice gained strength, "I can still read up anything I like in my spare time. Why shouldn't I study at a pace most suitable to me, and make sure that I have a solid foundation? If anything, last year's fiasco taught me that."

She didn't specify, but Harry and Ron exchanged a knowing smile. Her logic was sound, actually, and a part of Harry wondered if he'd be as enthusiastic about summer classes as he had, if Sirius and Remus were around and his Godfather was able to adopt him…

Ginny caught the distant look in his eyes. "Are you alright, Harry?"

"Yeah," He wasn't going to discuss that with her, Susan, Dean and Seamus around, though. He turned towards the door. "I want to stretch my legs, maybe have a look around. Coming, Ron?"

Ron looked up in surprise, a deck of Exploding Snap cards in his hand. "But we're just about to start a game, mate!"

Two voices spoke at the same time.

"I'll go see what Hannah and Neville are up to." Susan smiled as she stood up.

"I fancy a walk too," Ginny said brightly as she hopped to her feet.

The two girls froze and glare at each other as Harry suppressed a groan. The tension was broken, however, when the door opened and a platinum-blond boy entered the compartment, followed closely by two huge fourth-year boys.

Harry scowled at the new arrivals, and it wasn't because they just blocked his escape route.

"No one invited you or your thugs, Malfoy." He spat at the Slytherin fourth year and his cronies. Draco Malfoy merely smirked.

"Harry Potter, our local celebrity." He drawled, his eyes scanning the occupants of the compartment. "Pardon me if I don't grovel at your feet. Why, I see you have won yourself more fangirls already!"

Ginny and Susan blushed, but Harry rallied.

"Fangirls I can handle, it's fanboys that I really don't need, so you're out of luck, Malfoy." Harry said coolly. Hermione, who just opened a bottle of orange juice, nearly spilled it all over her clothes. The Gryffindor boys simply roared in laughter; Ginny and Susan both grinned in spite of themselves. Malfoy flushed.

"So… are you going to enter, Potter?" He retorted with a sneer. "I bet you will, you never missed a chance to show off before, have you?"

Harry had no idea what he was talking about, but he wasn't going to admit that to Malfoy. "Gee I don't know; I just may be able to clear my extraordinarily action-packed and exciting timetable for it. I'm afraid it is beyond your limited abilities, however…" He shook his head in mock pity. The Slytherin narrowed his eyes, but then found another target.

"The Weasel looked puzzled… why, don't you know anything about _it_? You had a father and a brother working at the Ministry, don't you? And Potter never told you either? I thought you are_ friends_?" Malfoy grinned maliciously, stressing the last word.

Ron shot a look at Harry, who tried to give the tiniest headshake in return; Harry could only hope his best mate got the cue. Ron opened his mouth—

"Do not obstruct the walkway, please, would you mind?" A new voice said behind the three Slytherin intruders. Surprised, Crabbe and Goyle both jumped and slammed into Malfoy, who let out a grunt as he was squashed between the two large boys.

"Hello Cedric!" Harry grinned as he recognized the newcomer, and fought hard not to blush or stare at the first of his companions. "Hi, Cho."

"The Super Hufflepuff himself and his Ravenclaw fangirls." Malfoy muttered as he fought to regain his composure.

"You do realize that I am a prefect, Malfoy? I am currently on patrol and you are preventing me from my duty. I can give you a detention for that." Cedric Diggory gave him a mirthless smile. "Would you like detention before you even get back to the castle? That would be a new record, worthy of a Malfoy, don't you think?"

"I'd suggest you leave now, Malfoy, and take your goons with you." Harry added with more than a hint of viciousness. Dean and Seamus stood up on either side of him, glaring at Crabbe and Goyle, as if daring them to try anything. Draco Malfoy gave them all an imperious look.

"Keep surrounding yourself with these losers, Potter, and you'll be regretting it soon enough." Malfoy gave them one last sneer as he backed out of the compartment. Cedric and his friends walked in before Ron slammed the door shut. A moment of silence fell among the group until Hermione found her voice.

"So, what brings you here, Cedric?"

The sixth-year Hufflepuff smiled and explained how he met Cho and her friend, Marietta Edgecombe, during his patrol on the train; they were looking for another group of their Ravenclaw cohorts when the three stumbled upon the Slytherins intruding on Harry and his friends. Harry couldn't help but wonder, again, whether Cedric had some sort of special ability, to be at the right place at the right time and help people.

The fourth member of Cedric's entourage homed in on Ginny in the mean time. "Hello, Ginevra." The blond girl said with a dreamy voice.

"Hey, Luna." Ginny beamed in return, and introduce her to Susan and the other Gryffindors. "This is Luna Lovegood. She's in my year but in Ravenclaw…"

Harry began talking Quidditch with Cedric and Cho (her friend was bored and began chatting with Susan) when he found everyone smiling bemusedly at him. Puzzled, he turned about, and all but jumped when he found himself within an inch of Luna Lovegood's large, protuberant eyes.

"What—what are you doing?" He said weakly, clutching his heart. The others laughed at his reaction while the girl pointed at his left ear without a word. His hand went to his fake wand. "What, this?"

It was only then that he realized she had her wand tugged behind her right ear, just like him. "Oh."

"You know we were giving you funny looks before?" Ginny said as Ron and Cedric grinned, and even Cho giggled at the memory. "That's because you reminded us of Luna here, doing just that."

"You make quite a pair, really," Seamus winked in an exaggerated fashion as Dean put his arms around their shoulders, pulling the black-haired Gryffindor and the blond Ravenclaw girl together. Susan and Ginny's faces darkened almost immediately at the words and glared daggers at the Irish Gryffindor.

Harry groaned.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Cedric and the Ravenclaws left a half-hour later (Luna was staring at Harry half the time), while Seamus and Dean stayed for another hour playing Exploding Snap before leaving. Harry and Ron went with them, partly because the girls in their compartment needed to change.

"Girl talk," Hermione smirked slightly as she pushed the Gryffindor boys out. Ron was not amused.

"She had never done that before." The redhead grunted as Harry and he returned and were waiting outside the compartment. He paused for a moment, then, with sudden seriousness he asked, "So what was the thing that Malfoy was talking of?"

Harry snorted but shook his head. "I have no idea, really." He chuckled at Ron's surprise look. "He was goading us for something, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction that we don't know what's going on."

A large grin slowly appeared on Ron's face. "So you were lying through your teeth." He said.

"Guilty as charged!" Harry made a face as Ron burst out laughing.

Ron gave him a solemn look after the shared secret. "Percy pulled you aside just before he left this morning. What's that about?"

Harry felt conflicted. He did not like lying or even keeping secrets from his best friend in the world, but this occasion called for subtlety. He decided to hint on the truth.

"It's not something I'd like to discuss, especially out here in the open." He gave Ron a significant look. "It's the thing I told Professor Dumbledore about."

Ron paled slightly. "Riddle, huh."

Harry gave a reluctant nod, but Ron's words got him thinking. As Voldemort obscured his real name and origin, it was actually easier to talk about him this way, instead of all the superstitious fear the Wizarding World seemed to have over the fake name Riddle made up for himself.

"You know what, Ron? If ever we need to talk about him in the open, maybe we should call him 'Riddle'… or maybe 'Tommy boy'."

Ron was still struggling for breath when Hermione opened the compartment door and beckoned the boys back in again.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry and Ron's good moods had all but evaporated by the time they stepped off the horseless carriages and into Hogwarts proper. For one thing, the heavy rainfall was relentless in its assault, and they were all soaked in the few seconds they raced between the carriages and the castle. For another, their seating arrangements had been rather difficult. Neither Ginny nor Susan had any intention of leaving Harry's side. Thankfully, Ron intervened, pulling Harry next to him and let the three girls sat together.

"Blimey, if the raining keeps up, the lake's going to overflow." Ron said, and suddenly jerked Harry aside.

"What—argh!" A large, water-filled balloon sailed past the boys, missing Harry's head by a mere inch. Unfortunately, the students were rather tightly packed in the Entrance Hall, and the balloon burst when it hit the people behind them anyway, sending cold water everywhere. "Peeves!"

The resident poltergeist of Hogwarts was crackling in mid-air as he aimed another balloon at them, this time landing on Hermione's head, who shrieked as she was drenched in icy water. Harry whipped out his wand and stood at the ready, as Peeves threw another balloon again, this time targeting a group of second-years. "_Accio _balloons! _Depulso_!"

His practices during summer paid off; the water balloons flew out of the floating little man's arms thanks to the summoning charm, and he was able to Banish them all out of the Hall before Peeves could react. The poltergeist looked at his suddenly-empty hands for a moment, seeming stunned, before making a rude gesture at Harry and float away swearing loudly.

"Potter! What were you doing with your wand out?" yelled an angry voice. It was Professor McGonagall, deputy headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House.

Harry hurriedly put away his wand, but rather than explain everything he just mumbled, "Sorry."

Professor McGonagall huffed, but turned towards the straggling crowd of students instead. "Well, move along, then!"

Things went more smoothly after that, as the students found their way into the Great Hall. Harry felt much better after a few well-cast heating charms from Ginny. Susan gave Harry's hand a squeeze before leaving for her house table; it did not go unnoticed by his friends, however.

"She fancies you." Ron said, barely hiding his smirk as Harry finally pulled his eyes off the departing Hufflepuff. Ginny's expression was unreadable, however, and she left to sit with her year-mates. Hermione sat down opposite Harry, observing him closely.

"Do you like her, Harry?" She asked, looking straight into his eyes.

_Hermione always asks the right questions_, Harry thought. "She's a good friend, but I'm not sure I like her that way." He admitted.

"That's what I thought too." She nodded. "What're you going to do about it?"

"Do I have to do something?" Harry looked up, eyebrows raised.

Hermione gave him a disapproving look. "I know it can be difficult, but you should tell her what you're feeling, otherwise it'll be even worse when the time comes and she'd think that you lead her on."

It was Ron who spoke next. "I think your year is going to be _very_ interesting, mate." He said dryly. Harry groaned and headbutted the table.

"Boys." Hermione rolled her eyes.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Having missed the Sorting ceremony two years running, Harry enjoyed the ritual enormously; he was much relieved, however, when it was finally over, as Ron had been muttering under his breath about how hungry he was for the entire time, although truth-be-told Harry felt the same.

"I didn't know the Hat sings a different song every year." Harry whispered.

"Well now you do," Ron said as Dumbledore finished his speech ("Tuck in!") and food appeared. The two best mates proceeded to fight over a large piece of chicken, which was plucked away unceremoniously by an amused Hermione. The boys gave her twin looks of hurt as she ate with exaggerated gusto.

"It was quite delicious, I have to say," the bushy-haired witch said. Nearly-headless Nick, the Gryffindor House ghost, floated by them just at that moment.

"Oh yes, the House-elves have quite outdone themselves this time." The ghost said as he 'sat' next to Hermione, whose goblet dropped on the floor upon the words.

"House-elves? Here, at Hogwarts?" She blurted out.

"Of course! How else do you think the school feeds its population, and clean everything? Have you ever seen a cleaning crew around?" The ghost stared at the Muggleborn witch dubiously, as if questioning her intelligence.

"I always expected there to be some specialized crew, or just magic." She admitted.

"An easy mistake to make, Miss Granger, though I am surprised you didn't think deeper into it." Nick replied kindly. "There are over a hundred House-elves here at Hogwarts, the largest dwelling in the country."

Hermione gave her plate a look. "Do they get paid? Holidays, sick leave, and the like?" She asked.

The ghost gave her a blank look, before bursting out laughing. "Of course not! They're House-elves! They don't need or want any of that!" Shaking his head (which threatened to fall off), Nearly-headless Nick floated away.

"Slave labour." Hermione pushed her plate away with a look of disgust.

"What are you talking about now, Hermione?" Ron said weakly. "Wait, let me guess—does this have anything to do with Crouch's House-elf?"

"So what if it does?" She replied hotly. "Crouch, Malfoy, they're all the same! Treating their elves like slaves! And I'm going to do something about it!"

"On an empty stomach?" Ron countered, incredulous. "And are you actually suggesting that Dumbledore, of all people, mistreats House-elves?"

Hermione was fuming now, and Harry decided to let them fight in private. "So, how was your August?" He turned towards Neville, who was seated next to Hermione and across from Harry. The two boys proceeded to touch on a variety of topics over dinner, pointedly ignoring the bickering couple next to them.

It wasn't until dessert came and went that they finally gave it a rest, and their neighbours sighed in relief. At the head table, Albus Dumbledore stood up, and the buzz of chatter in the Great Hall ceased, almost at once.

"So!" the Headmaster beamed at the students. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must ask for your attention." He uttered the usual warnings regarding the Forbidden Forest, Filch's list of forbidden objects, etc., and then dropped a bombshell.

"It is my painful duty to inform you that due to certain upcoming events, the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

"_What_?" Ron gasped; he had told Harry of his interest to try out for the team this year, now that Oliver had graduated and Katie Bell, the fifth-year Chaser, was preparing for her OWL exams. Something else clicked in Harry's mind, however—this must be the 'it' Malfoy was talking about, the big event that Percy was hinting at.

"It is my great pleasure to inform you that the Tri-Wizard Tournament, between the three premiere Wizarding schools of Europe, will be taking place at Hogwarts this year." Dumbledore continued mirthfully, as if there had been no interruption, giving a brief history of the tournament and the other two participating schools, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Apparently the Tournament was so dangerous it was discontinued when the death tolls went too high (Neville paled at this), but the three schools felt this the right time to reinstate the games, and that it could foster better relations between the three magical schools.

"A Champion will be chosen from each school at the end of October by an impartial judge. They will compete for the Triwizard cup, glory for their school and their person, and a prize of one thousand Galleons." The Headmaster finished explaining the rules.

"In addition to the Tournament itself, there will be a special inter-school Quidditch Cup, consists of a team each from the visiting schools, and two from Hogwarts, the host of this event." Heads turned at this unexpected development. Dumbledore had to speak louder to drown out the noises. "Instead of the four current House teams, there will be tryouts for the two teams representing Hogwarts in two weeks. I hope that we can field our best teams, and encourage everyone interested to go to the open trials."

"I am going." Ron said fervently as the Headmaster finally dismissed the students and they trooped towards their dormitories. Hermione made no response, seemingly still fuming over their argument during the feast, but Harry nodded enthusiastically.

"It'd be great if you and I get on the teams."

"You'd be a lock for sure, Harry." Fred said as he and George joined the three fourth-year students. "Personally, I will be much more interested in the Tournament itself."

"A thousand Galleons' personal prize money! Can't get better than that." George said, a faraway look on his face.

"That'd be great, yeah," Ron agreed emphatically, but sighed. "I don't think I can qualify, though. I mean, we're just fourth-years."

"Don't sell yourself short, Ronnie-kin," Fred said bracingly. "You can always enter first; it's no shame if you aren't chosen, as long as you give it a try."

"Although if we aren't qualified then you certainly had no chance." George teased. He turned to Harry, eyes twinkling. "What about you, Harry-kin?"

"It'd be nice." Harry had to admit that the idea was tempting: he could almost see himself, Hogwarts' champion, dazzling the world with his amazing display of magical skills, in front of the cheering crowd and particularly an Asian Ravenclaw girl...

It wasn't until they all climbed through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room that Hermione spoke up.

"That was a very clever distraction."

"What are you talking about now?" Ron said, raising an eyebrow at her non-sequitur.

"You didn't notice?" Hermione gave him a look, but kept the answer short and to the point.

"_The new DADA professor never showed up_."

A/N: Events in this chapter take place on September 1st, 1994.


	12. Lessons

Disclaimer: I do not own Pavarti, nor Padma Patil.

Chapter-12: Lessons

By the next morning, while the excitement about the Triwizard Tournament was still going strong, the more sensible or observant students had also noticed what Hermione had the night before and spread the word. Harry was not exactly surprised to find the Great Hall buzzing with various discussions and rumours about their no-show of a Defence professor by the time they joined their fellow Gryffindors for breakfast.

"Maybe Dumbledore couldn't find someone to teach this year?" Ron suggested. It was well known by now that the position of Defence against Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts was jinxed; there was simply no other way to account for the fact that not a single professor managed to stay at the post for more than a year for nearly twenty years. Even during Harry's short tenure at the magical school he had already seen three professors came and went. Harry's heart sank; it had been his best subject by far, and he really enjoyed Remus' classes (Quirrell and Lockhart didn't count in Harry's books due to their sheer incompetence). "Or maybe he or she's just been delayed, simply not be able to get to the welcome feast in time, that's all."

"Any idea who the instructor may be?" Hermione wondered aloud while feeding Troy a bit of sausage. Her new owl just delivered to her a letter from her parents.

Fred, who had joined their conversation, shook his head. "We rarely know the professor's identity before the term begins."

"Actually, there used to be an annual betting pool on who the DADA professor might be, and how he or she would be ousted, until McGonagall put her foot down." George said from further down the table, smiling fondly with the memory. "Good times."

Harry snorted behind his coffee mug. He had a shrewd idea exactly who ran that pool.

The infamous rumour mills of Hogwarts were back in business, and by the end of breakfast there were more than a dozen outlandish stories regarding the identity of the DADA professor and why he (or she) didn't show up the night before. Harry and Ron were quite entertained by one theory jointly presented by Lavender and Parvati when Professor McGonagall walked down the Gryffindor table passing out timetables. She stopped to talk with Harry for a moment.

"Professor Vector sent me your grades for Arithmancy. You passed and can now enrol in the fourth year class." The Head of Gryffindor House told him. "You have also dropped Divination and picked up Ancient Runes, but with the third years. Thus, some of your classes have to be re-arranged; you will have History of Magic with the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff class instead, and one of your Transfiguration lessons with the Ravenclaws and Slytherins."

Harry cursed under his breath, just low enough so that McGonagall didn't hear him; he was not on good terms with his Slytherin year-mates at all, and he would have to endure an entire year of classes with them by himself. He studied his new schedule moodily.

"Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures with the Slytherins in the morning." Dean joined the conversation as he and Seamus sat down next to Ron, examining their new timetables. Harry looked up; the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall was grey and gloomy, reflecting the weather outside. "It's not raining but still, I don't fancy staying out today."

Next to him, Ron took a look at his timetable and groaned. "Double Divination in the afternoon!"

"You should've done the smart thing, and given it up like Harry and I did," Hermione smirked as she finished the last of her apple juice.

"At least you'll have Neville with you in the class," Harry supplied as the group of Gryffindors set off for the greenhouse together.

They spent their first class of the year collecting Bubotuber pus from the worm-like plants, after Professor Sprout gave a lecture over its properties and medical uses. Harry kept his attention on the exercise, but couldn't help noticing the gaze from a certain Hufflepuff girl lingering on his person. There was also the looks the Hufflepuff boys sent his way; not overtly hostile, but not exactly friendly either. The knowing looks from Ron weren't helping matters.

They had Care of Magical Creatures next with the Slytherins, and were introduced to some rather strange, shell-less lobsters Hagrid proudly called Blast-Ended Skrewts. Harry could see that they were aptly named: the creatures' rear end would explode from time to time, sending them flying up to a foot forward. While Hagrid only wanted the students to feed and observe the Skrewts today, almost everyone were burnt at least once by the end of the class.

"I'm worried, those things look awfully young," Ron said as Hermione handed him one of Harry's burn salves. "They'll be a real horror if—or when—they grow up."

Everyone within earshot shuddered at the thought.

"Did you see those stingers? And what did Hagrid call them, the suckers?" Dean said fearfully.

Harry came to Hagrid's defence reluctantly. "The Skrewts may be useful…I don't know, as potion ingredients or something."

Ron actually laughed. "I can see it now, Snape fighting the Skrewts…I don't know which side I'll cheer for, though."

"I don't think I've ever read of them before." Hermione said after slapping Ron's head. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"A newly discovered species?" He asked. Hermione slowed down slightly so that Harry, Ron and she got some more privacy from the rest of the Gryffindors.

"I'm thinking cross-breeding experiments. And those are restricted by the Ministry because they could be very, very dangerous." She said significantly.

"Yeah," Ron concurred, "I remember Dad telling us once about this poisonous duck…"

Chatting all the way they returned to the tower and collected their books. Then, for the first time since starting at Hogwarts, Harry started a new class without Ron—double Arithmancy in the afternoon.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine." Hermione said bracingly, recognizing the contemplative look on his face. "And Ron can work with Neville in Divination."

It was a bit strange, sitting in the same classroom but with Hermione instead of Susan. Hermione was serious and studious, and could out-Ravenclaw a Ravenclaw; her school marks, top of the year, was ample proof of that. Susan on the other hand was more relaxed, listening to the lecture but wrote down only the briefest of notes. It might be because she was a genuine prodigy in the subject, and her understanding of it was more intuitive, rather than analytical like Hermione.

Harry paid more attention to the rest of his Arithmancy classmates as well, as they were actually his year-mates; Susan had been the only one in his year during his summer class. He was not surprised to find the class dominated by his Ravenclaw peers. Hermione had been Gryffindor's only representative until Harry joined this year, and Justin Finch-Fletchley likewise for Hufflepuff, and Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis (Davies? Her last name escaped Harry at the moment) for Slytherin House. Just as Harry stole glances at his classmates, he noticed that they gave him looks as well; presumably because he was new to the class? He couldn't tell for sure, but decided to concentrate on the lesson after that.

The two Gryffindors parted ways after class was over. Seeing that there was still some time before dinner, Hermione headed for the library while Harry dashed to the hospital wing. Even though Madam Pomfrey had already promised him a place in her medical training program, she still wanted him to go through with all the paperwork. Harry had no objection over this, especially as this would avert another round of accusations over his getting preferential treatment.

"This will do nicely, Mr. Potter," the matron said as he handed her the form. "The application deadline is this Friday and you will be notified of the training schedule by next Monday."

Harry and the witch chatted for a few more minutes before he left for dinner at the Great Hall. Students, hungry and tired after their first day back to school, were queuing up at the entrance. Fortunately, Ron and Hermione were already at the table and had saved a seat for him. They swapped tales on their first classes of the year during dinner. Harry's mood lifted somewhat; he had to admit that having a slightly different schedule from Ron wasn't as bad as he feared.

Hermione hurried through her dinner, though, and left for the library again shortly after Harry and Ron began. Her seat was quickly taken by Fred and George, who were both wincing as they sat down.

"Something wrong?" Ron asked as he grabbed another roasted potato.

"Defence against the Dart Arts," Fred said through gritted teeth. "We had a most…interesting lesson today."

Harry spoke up. "So the professor is here! What's he like? Or is it a she?"

"We're not allowed to tell, actually," George answered, massaging the back of his neck. "It's supposed to be both a surprise and a test."

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. Fred noticed, however.

"Oh he knows the subject all right. He had a lot of experience, fighting the Dark Arts." He said in an impressed voice.

"Just wait and see…" George favoured them with another grimace.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry was pleasantly surprised the next day during breakfast, when owls arrived in the Great Hall with the morning mail. Hedwig was among them, landing gracefully in front of him with not one, but two letters. Harry gave her some bacon before opening the first one; it was from Sirius and Remus. He gave Ron and Hermione a deliberate look.

"My uncles are back in town." He said evenly, knowing that this would draw far less attention than if he whispered instead. His best friends (more Hermione than Ron) understood immediately. Putting it in his pocket, he tore open the second letter.

_Harry,_

_Please drop by my office at eight tonight. Sugar mice are delicious._

_A. D._

He couldn't resist stealing a look at the staff table then. The Headmaster was deep in conversation with Snape, the much-loathed Potions Master. Harry's brain leaped into action: so Sirius and Remus had returned to Britain, and as their letter arrived with Dumbledore's, they most likely notified the Headmaster first, who relayed their letter to Harry along with one of his own. Perhaps the Headmaster wanted to discuss the situation with Harry? This could be the opportunity Harry had been waiting for, to obtain some answers from the old wizard.

Before he could ponder further he was approached by the twins. Fred handed him a medium-sized package.

"Here are some of the things you ordered, including a bottle of dittany." George said as he checked off items from Harry's list of purchase. "The rest of your order, including the potions and salves we're brewing, should be ready by Friday."

Harry thanked them and shoved the whole package in his school bag. He knew he wouldn't be able to sort them out properly until classes were over. He waved goodbyes to Hermione and Ron, who were both looking apprehensive, knowing what he was having for first period today. Neither needing nor wanting the antagonism from one-half of his classmates, Harry entered the Transfiguration classroom at the last possible moment.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" Draco Malfoy froze in surprise as he watched the Gryffindor took a seat at the farthest corner. The rest of the students—Slytherins and Ravenclaws alike—also had their eyes locked onto him, but remained silent.

"Class?" Harry suggested sarcastically. "It may be difficult for you to believe, Malfoy, but that's what people do in a classroom."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, but whatever retort he had in mind was cut short by the appearance of Professor McGonagall. The professor did not say anything in particular, but Harry was relieved by her mere presence; he wasn't the only Gryffindor in class after all. Nevertheless he did not let down his guard, for this was a wand-based class and he knew the Slytherins—in particular Malfoy—would love to hex him, if given a chance. He stayed closer to the Ravenclaw side of the room, as the students of the Eagle House were neutral and curious towards him rather than outright hostile. For the practical part of their class today (transfiguring guinea fowls into guinea pigs) he was partnered with Padma Patil, the Ravenclaw twin of Harry's housemate Parvati.

"So why were you in this class?" She asked in a whisper while they practiced the wand motions.

"I dropped a course and took on new ones, so my schedule has to be rearranged." He told her with a sigh. It was the second day of the school year and he's tired of the endless questioning already; if it continued he just might begin hexing people. She seemed to notice this, however, and did not pursue further until after the bell rang and signalled the end of period.

"I know Hermione Granger is brilliant and all, but if you need any help with class I'll be happy to lend a hand." She said as the class put the fowls and pigs into cages.

"Thanks Padma." He said sincerely.

"You're welcome Harry." The girl gave him a faint smile before departing with the rest of her housemates.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry was unsurprised to find that once again he was the last to arrive at his classes today, though this time it was not by choice: the classroom for Ancient Runes was nearly half way across the castle from Transfiguration's. How did Hermione (or anyone, for that matter) manage to get to class in time anyway? He had to ask her at lunch today.

"Harry!" A girl's voice called, drawing his attention back to the present. The youngest member of the Weasley family was waving at him. "Come sit with us!"

"Hi Gin." He acknowledged her with a weak smile but eyed her entourage warily. She was seated in the middle of a crowd and chatting animatedly with her neighbours, comprised of girls from all four houses; Ginny Weasley was apparently quite popular among her peers, and thrived at the center of attention. Harry, on the other hand, would prefer staying out of the spotlight, and he knew it's not going to happen given the way the third-years surrounding Ginny looked at him. Some were merely curious, but most were looking at him with awe or adoration; they were what Malfoy would call his "fangirls". He shuddered.

"It's alright; you should be with your friends." Gently but firmly he declined Ginny's offer, and retreated to a seat near the windows instead. The disappointed redhead was thinking up a counter when a small blond girl wandered into the classroom. She drifted over to one of the few remaining spots, which just so happened was the seat next to the fourth-year Gryffindor.

"Hullo." She said, or rather, sang. "Is this seat taken?"

"Hello Luna, and no, it isn't." He replied with a smile. The blonde nodded, her earrings (were those _radish_?) dangling, and sat down without a second glance at him. Harry was actually grateful that this one girl wasn't gawking or glaring at him. She wasn't exactly ignoring him either; he simply didn't hold her interest—at least, not when his wand (fake or otherwise) was in his pocket instead of behind his ear, like hers.

It was rather refreshing.

Class went by without further incident, and Harry was thankful for that. Much like Arithmancy, this was not a wand-based subject but more of a theory-oriented one, at least in the introductory year; Professor Babbling spoke of the subject lovingly, describing its history, significance, and modern applications. She also handed out a course outline, detailing the things they would cover in class for the rest of the year.

"For the first two terms you will focus on the basics, reading, writing and translating runes. You will also have a project per month, translating a passage or a page of a runic tome; Celtic and Germanic runes for the time being, but we will dabble in Babylonian and Hellenic runes in the third term. Should you decide to continue, fourth-year Runes will build on this foundation and in fifth-year you will learn to apply it in practical ways, including warding and enchanting objects." She paused as the students digested what she just told them. She flicked her wand and a large box behind her desk glowed for a moment. "Other than your standard homework, projects and tests, I have also a collection of runic puzzles. These are bonus assignments and should you find yourself struggling on the line between pass and fail—or if you simply wanted more practice—you can always work on these and earn some extra points."

Harry wondered idly if that's what propelled Hermione to scoring one hundred and twenty-two percent on her final exam last year. He resolved to check them out later and see how difficult they were. He also noticed Luna straightening, if only slightly, at the sound of the runic puzzles; he made a mental note on that too. At the end of the class the professor assigned them a chapter to read regarding runes and numbers. They were to convert the digits of their birthdays into runes and investigate the magical significance, if any, behind them.

Lunch was followed by Potions, which went smoothly for Harry and his friends, aside from Neville melting his sixth cauldron and earning himself a detention with Snape. The Potions Master was pointedly ignoring Harry; no doubt he was still sore from the ordeal with Sirius at the end of third year. History with the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff class was worse than usual, as his usual hangman-partner Ron was absent. Doubting he could get away with sleeping through the class and deciding that he had a better use for his time than this, Harry pulled out his Runes textbook and began work on his assignment.

Harry rejoined his friends at the Gryffindor table again at dinner, but barely touched his food; he had to admit that he was nervous about his upcoming meeting with the Headmaster. Ron, seeing that Harry was preoccupied with his thoughts, was discussing the Quidditch tryouts with Neville, Hermione having once again rushed through her dinner and disappeared to the library. Harry spent some time organizing his newly-purchased medical supplies before leaving for Dumbledore's office. He had to ask a few portraits on the way; apparently the entrance was on the second floor this year. Whispering the password to the gargoyle statue, the guardian leaped aside and allowed Harry access to the Headmaster's tower. Fawkes the phoenix shrilled in greeting, and the young wizard returned with a friendly wave of his hand.

"Good evening Harry. Lemon drops?" He gestured to a bowl of sweets.

The student declined the offer politely. "No thank you, sir."

"I hope you are adjusting well to classes?" The old wizard inquired, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses.

"Yes sir. All things considered it's an improvement over the last two years. I did not receive a prediction of grisly demise this year, nor have I been injured, save for a minor burnt from one of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I hope they won't provide too many opportunities for you to practice your new skills. You are continuing your training with Madam Pomfrey in the Healing Arts, yes?"

"Yes sir." Harry answered with a nod. He phrased his next words carefully. "I presume, Sir, that you did not ask me here simply to check on my class schedule."

"I wish I were," the older man said, his good humour dissipating. "Alas, what I wish to discuss with you is far more serious than that."

"May I presume further, that it has something to do with Sirius and Remus, or perhaps their mission on the continent?" Harry said slowly.

"And how do you draw that conclusion?" Dumbledore asked, his blue eyes now looking straight into Harry's green ones.

"The fact that your note came with Sirius and Remus' letter? If it had something to do with Riddle and his band of merry men I doubt we will be taking things so leisurely." Harry answered, returning the Headmaster's intense glare in kind. The older wizard broke the eye contact after a moment.

"Actually, it doesn't. Not directly, anyway. In fact, given certain recent events, we can conclude that their mission is a failure. Sirius is staying at Remus' place for now, both of them resting after their long and perilous journey." Dumbledore sighed at Harry's pointed look.

"I do not blame them, Harry. If anything, I too must share that blame: we have all underestimated Peter Pettigrew's skill, resourcefulness and desperation. If your vision were real, then he had located Voldemort, returned him to a physical—if temporary—form, and brought him back to England. He did all these in a little over two months. While that is disconcerting, I actually asked you here because of the Death Eater riot itself, Harry. If at all possible, I would like you to share with me your memory of that night, and perhaps any observations you shared with Madam Bones afterward."

He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a shallow stone basin, with runes and symbols carved all over its surface.

"This is called a Pensieve. A wizard can remove a memory from his mind and review it using this device. All you have to do is focus on the memory and bring the tip of your wand to your temple; it will extract the memory. You will feel the absence of said memory like a gaping hole in your mind, but the process will not harm you in any way. The memory can and will be returned afterwards, of course."

"Just in case I miss some critical details?" Harry suggested with a tight smile. In truth though he didn't mind, as it was imperative that they squeeze every bit of information they could on their hidden foe, and the Headmaster merely offered a method to do so. It gave Harry an opportunity as well. "Answers are very important after all, and I do trust you, professor."

The Headmaster stared at him with an unreadable look on his face. Harry, once again, met his penetrating eyes with defiance in his eyes. "I can see where this conversation is going, and what you want answered; and I mean that literally. You see Harry, I am a Legilimens." Dumbledore smiled benignly at the flicker of confusion on Harry's face. "Frankly, if you knew what that means I would be more worried by your… shall we say, extracurricular studies. To put it shortly, using the magical art of Legilimency, I can enter and influence your mind subtly and gather information through interpreting your thoughts."

"You can read minds?" Harry asked when he recovered from the shock. "Is this how you know so much of the things going on in the castle? With me?"

"Most certainly not; I do respect the privacy of my students. But there are others who don't." The Headmaster answered, sensing the rising anger in Harry and wanting to quell it quickly. "What I meant to say is that you are unprotected, that you are susceptible to mental assaults. I will be perfectly happy to share with you whatever information you want and I deem you need—but only if you are capable of defending them."

Harry gritted his teeth. He had been outplayed and he knew it. He was outmanoeuvred, like he so often did when playing chess with Ron, except this time he was playing the game of life against a real chess master.

"So what now?" That came out more confrontational than Harry intended, and he backtracked immediately. "Sir?"

It was a deferential gesture on Harry's part and Dumbledore knew it. He produced a slim, leather-bound book and put it in front of his student: a single, unfamiliar word was emblazoned on the cover.

"_Occlumency_?" Harry read the book's title aloud.

"The counter to Legilimency, it improves one's mental discipline and helps guard one's mind against probing and other mental attacks." The older wizard explained. "You have a unique connection with Voldemort, one that defies understanding; your vision of him is an example of that. There are things that for security's sake I have to keep from you, until you learn to protect your mind properly."

It was a challenge, but one that Harry was eager to take on. He slipped the book into an inner pocket. "And when I do, I will want my answers."

"And I look forward to giving them to you." Dumbledore said from behind his desk, nodding. "But I must warn you, Harry: it is not easy, and may take years for you to become a truly accomplished Occlumens."

"Then I better get started." Harry stood up.

"Should you encounter any questions, bring them to me; I will be available to answer them and evaluate your progress every Tuesday night at eight." Dumbledore called after the young wizard just as he reached the door. "And I do like gummy bears so very much."

Harry turned to face his Headmaster for the last time tonight, and favoured him with a small smile, the first genuine one he had all night. "Thank you sir."

A/N: Events in this chapter take place between September 1st and 2nd, 1994.


	13. Eye of Madness

Disclaimer: I do not own Alastor Moody.

Chapter-13: Eye of Madness

Wednesday passed without any incident, although Harry was rather glad they had their two outdoor classes (Care of Magical Creatures and their first Astronomy lesson, at midnight) that day; for Thursday arrived with a thunderstorm and another round of heavy rainfall. It was difficult to concentrate on his morning classes, however, as his thoughts drifted to his double-period afternoon class, the first DADA lesson of the year.

Most of the students of the school, or at least those who had Defence, had had their first lessons already, but the details for the class and its instructor remained mysteries, except that it's 'interesting' and the new professor is a 'he'.

"It's not like we don't want to tell you, Ron, we can't," Ginny explained to her youngest elder brother during breakfast earlier that day. "The professor had us all sworn not to talk about it until the end of the week. Don't want us to let slip something and ruin the surprise for everyone, he said."

Thus it was hardly a surprise at lunch that the Gryffindor fourth-years—as well as their Ravenclaw counterparts, who shared the class—could talk of nothing else but the upcoming lesson in the afternoon. To be precise, most of them anyway; Hermione had once again disappeared after ten minutes of lunch and did not turn up until moments before the bell rang to signal the end of lunch.

"Let me guess, the library." Harry said as Hermione joined the rest of her classmates queuing outside the DADA classroom. Ron simply rolled his eyes. They had finished lunch early and been waiting there for nearly fifteen minutes, just so they could get the best seats for the much-anticipated class. "C'mon quick, or the best seats will be taken."

It was the same classroom Remus used last year, and being in here Harry couldn't help but wonder about his father's best friends' current status; he resolved to write a letter to them as soon as possible. While Harry was lost in thought Ron managed to muscle his way in and secure seats for the three of them at the front row, Ron in the middle and Harry and Hermione on either side of him. Hermione, ever studious, pulled out her copy of _The Dark Forces: a Guide to Self-Protection _and began flipping the pages, in what Harry was certain was the hundredth time she had done so since getting the textbook. Sometimes he wondered if Hermione would fit better among the Ravenclaws.

The seconds ticked away until the second bell rang, signalling the beginning of class. The students all jumped, startled, when the door slammed shut, seemingly on its own. Seamus nudged Dean and pointed towards the chalkboard. "Look!"

A piece of chalk had been levitated and began writing. Gryffindors and Ravenclaws alike stared at the five words scribed on the chalkboard, and hardly noticed the chalk dropping to the floor when it's done.

"_Lesson one: CONSTANT VIGILANCE (Practical)_?" Ron read the words aloud, confused; he was not alone in that regard, as Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students exchanged puzzled looks. Harry frowned; he thought he had heard of this before. He turned to the living, walking encyclopaedia that was his female best friend.

"Do you know what that means?" He asked Hermione quietly.

"_Be careful at all times?_" She replied with a faint, yet undoubtedly mischievous smile. He rolled his eyes at her unhelpfulness.

Ron regarded Hermione with a suspicious look. "You've read of that somewhere before, haven't you?"

Knowing that her best friends didn't really have a mind for details, the witch sighed, but dropped a hint just the same.

"I have heard of this saying, and so have the two of you, and very recently. Why don't you two try and figure it out?" She gave Ron a crossed glare when he grunted. "Honestly! Do I have to do all the thinking for you?"

"You are the brightest witch in our generation, after all," Ron said in with a toothy grin. Hermione blushed and opened her mouth, but Harry hushed her before she got a chance to retort. The chatter among the rest of the class slowly died down as the students tried to detect the approaching footsteps of their Defence professor. They waited.

And waited.

And waited.

"What's taking him so long?" Ron burst out ten minutes later. From the looks and mutterings of his classmates Harry knew they were all thinking about the same thing; he knew he was. In addition to that a feeling of unease had crept up on him, slowly, ever since the classroom door closed.

"Do you think something happened to the professor?" Neville, who was seated behind the three of them, suggested in a worried tone. Hermione cast nervous glances around the classroom, her brows furrowed.

"Something's not right," she whispered. Ron began looking around and after glancing at the board again, Harry pulled out his wand. It did not go unnoticed.

"What are you doing, Harry?" Seamus whispered even as Hermione copied her friend's action, albeit hesitantly. Several of the Ravenclaw boys gave the Gryffindors suspicious glances until their attention—and the rest of the class's—were drawn to the chalkboard once more. The words had disappeared and a second message was being written in their place. Harry exchanged wary looks with Ron and Hermione upon seeing the words.

"Practical lesson begins."

Terry Boot, one of the Ravenclaw boys, opened his mouth—and promptly fell over, dropping onto the desk with a loud thud. His friends gasped and made a grab for him, even as Katherine MacDougal and Dean Thomas fell unconscious in their seats. Harry and Hermione jumped out of chairs, looking around, now fully alert; Harry could've sworn that he felt a spell flew past him, missing him by mere inches. They were quickly joined by Ron who had now pulled out his wand as well. The three of them stood back to back, almost as if they're in a defensive formation.

"Did you feel it too? Like someone's watching us?" Harry asked his best mates in a low voice. Seamus was shaking his best friend, while the Ravenclaws gathered around Katherine, muttering urgently as they tried to wake her. Everyone else, including Neville, had stood up and drawn their wands, mimicking the Gryffindor trio's motions.

"I didn't, mate, but I know the two of you don't go rush into thing without a good reason." Ron answered then frowned. "Anyway, do either of you know a good defensive spell?"

"Try _Protego_, the standard Shield Charm," Hermione said, waving her wand slowly so that the boys could observe the wand movements. "I read about it from the textbook but haven't tried it yet."

"This better bloody work." Ron muttered under his breath. The witch caught it however.

"Language, Ronald!" Hermione hissed. Composing herself, she turned slightly to address Harry. "I think our mysterious professor is responsible for this. And they just got hit by Sleep Hex, _Somnium_ I think; I don't know the counter but they should be alright in an hour or two."

Padma, who was checking on Katherine, apparently heard Hermione's assessment and agreed with it, for she lifted her wand and pointed at the unconscious Ravenclaw girl. "_Rennervate_."

Katherine MacDougal moaned as she woke from her magically-induced slumber—just as Lavender, Neville and Su Li dropped to the floor, stiff as boards. Everyone looked positively alarmed now. Harry suddenly remembered why he was having that feeling of déjà vu.

"Remember that night with the riot and the invisible mystery man?" He whispered low enough so that only Ron and Hermione could hear him. Both nodded. "I think it's something similar here. Shall we give it a try?"

"Drenching our classmates with _Agumenti _won't exactly endear us to them." Ron caught on quickly. "Oh well. On a count of three?"

"Wait." Hermione stopped the two of them. "I have a better idea. _Homenum Revelio_!"

The spell was barely out of her lips when a beam of red light flew toward her. Hermione shrieked as Ron dragged her out of the way while Harry jumped sideways to dodge it; he was unwilling to put too much stock in a spell he barely knew. He pointed his wand towards the back of the classroom, where the red jet originated. "There! _Expelliarmus_!"

The Disarming Spell impacted the wall harmlessly, obviously missing its target. Harry thought he saw a flicker of movement, however. "No time for niceties! Ron!"

"_Agumenti_!" The redhead roared, sweeping a jet of water towards the area even as classmates ducked out of his way. A section of the wall remained dry, however, as water bounced off a softly glowing barrier directly in front of that patch of dryness. Harry took aim but two streaks of red flew towards Ron and himself.

"_Protego_!" Hermione had recovered just enough to fire off a spell of her own; unfortunately, the hastily cast Shield wasn't enough to stop the beam, which blasted into Ron and knocked him out cold. Harry sidestepped the spell gunning for him, and turning over a desk, took cover behind it.

"_Expelliarmus_! _Incarcerous_!" He fired in the general direction of his attacker, while mentally bemoaning the fact that he knew only a few combat spells. Remus was an excellent professor, but his specialty had been Dark creatures, not curses; the few spells they learned last year were geared toward combating creatures, which couldn't block or counterattack with spells of their own. And then there was the fact that this opponent was both invisible and silent. Harry was weighing his options when the rest of the students finally got their acts together.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!" Padma shouted even as others, including Hermione, threw out a variety of jinxes and hexes. While quantity had a quality of its own, Harry could see that the array of spells, weak and disorganized as they were, wouldn't really stop or even reveal their mysterious attacker (_the professor_, he corrected himself). If anything, their opponent upped the ante by fighting fiercer; red jets of light knocked out Seamus Finnigan and Lisa Turpin while two invisible sleep hexes fell Pavarti Patil and Michael Corner. Hermione barely got to cover in time as Fay Dunbar and her friend went down, courtesy of Full Body-Bind curses; Stephen Cornfoot joined them on the floor a few seconds later, hit by the same curse. Harry exchanged glances with Hermione and Padma: the three of them were the last ones left.

"Can we surrender, Professor?" Hermione shouted. While it wasn't a Gryffindor thing to do, there was simply no way they could hold out against their opponent after all. The answer came in the form of a spell, which hit the table the witch was hiding behind, sending splinters flying. She shrugged when she noticed Harry staring at her. "It was worth a try."

Harry eyed Kat MacDougal, who was hit by a stray curse before she recovered from the sleep hex. He turned to the sole remaining Ravenclaw, who was dragging her twin sister behind cover. "Can you wake the others with that counter spell of yours?"

Padma was already on it, casting the spell on Pavarti. She slowed down the wand movements when she saw Harry and Hermione observing her. Hermione turned towards the unconscious Mandy Brocklehurst, who was closest to her, and muttered the spell. Mandy opened her eyes, still disoriented. Harry looked around; Seamus was nearest to him. He was just about to attempt the spell when the desk that served as his cover suddenly flew off.

"What—" Years of Dudley's Harry Hunting, Quidditch, and life-and-death situations had given Harry better reflexes than even he himself realize; he leaped out of the way of the follow-up curse and fired off a Full Body-Bind, then a Disarmer of his own.

Perhaps he should draw attention and spell-fire to himself while the girls woke the others? He thought as he threw out another spell. It would appear that third time really was the charm, as the conjured rope of his _Incarcerous _bounced off a defence spell. Harry grabbed a bottle of ink from a nearby desk, and threw it in the general direction of their attacker. It flew halfway across the classroom before being sent in a completely different direction, courtesy of what Harry was certain was a Banishing Spell. That gave him an idea. Two jets of red light flew towards him—

"_Accio_ desk!" The target of his Summoning Charm flew right in front of him and blocked the two incoming spells. Harry sent the desk off with a Banisher of his own, and keeping up the pressure followed it by Banishing three chairs over. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione next to a stirring Dean, and Ron muttering to Morag MacDougal. His momentary distraction did not go unnoticed by his assailant, however, who sent a barrage of spells over. Harry dodged the first two easily, until he dropped to the floor courtesy of a Leg-Locker curse. Red light sped toward him, and Harry realized then that he had foolishly Banished away all the chairs and desks in his vicinity. He could only pray that his next spell work properly. "_Protego_!"

The spell bounced off the glowing barrier. The success of his Shield Charm surprised even himself, but Harry didn't dare test it again; he rolled, purely out of instinct, just before two more curses crashed into and broke through the shield. He crawled behind a desk and cast a hasty Sticking Charm on it, in case it was Summoned or Banished away like before. A few feet away, Ron and Fay Dunbar waved at him from behind covers of their own. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Thanks for all the help!" He shouted after undoing the Leg-Locker with the counter-curse. "Really appreciate the vote of confidence!"

His fellow Gryffindors simply smirked, much to his annoyance.

"You were doing great!" Ron yelled back even as spells blasted pass them. Harry snorted. "No, really! You bought us precious time!"

"Time? For what?" Harry asked. Ron simply winked at him.

"Now!" He bellowed, and suddenly everyone who had been woken leaped out of their respective covers and fired, sending spells and jinxes and hexes and curses toward their invisible professor. Most missed, but at least two impacted on the magical barrier, causing it to glow faintly. It did not go unnoticed as Harry let loose a volley spells as fast as he could manage. Ron pointed his own wand and sent off a fiery-looking spell. "_Flagrate_!"

The fiery spell did no notable damage to the shield, only giving it a tint of red, but that was exactly what Ron intended for it to do. Every waking student—about one-third of the class—turned to focus their attack at the now visible magical shield. Despite being relatively weak spells individually, the sheer amount of concentrated spell-fire was enough to break through the shield, shattering it at long last. Ron leaped to his feet and promptly felt over, body rigid as a board. Harry caught a glimpse of red but was hit before he could react; the last thought he had before he blacked out was that the spell had somehow hit him from behind.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry opened his eyes with a shudder. He didn't know what happened but he was suddenly and completely awake, and _very_ sore. A very familiar redhead boy was looking down at him; he realized that he must be lying down. He could barely stifle his groan. "What happened?"

"You were Stunned." Ron answered while offering him a hand. Harry took it gratefully and was pulled into a sitting position. "You're just sore because of the counter. It's like being jerk awake, but without the jerking."

"How did he—"

"The professor maintained that shield he had while he flanked us; he knocked us out from the back." Harry thought he detected a hint of admiration in Ron's tone. "It was underhanded, sneaky, but brilliant too."

A surprised gasp escaped from the person next to them, cutting short their conversation. It was Hermione, who had just been awakened by a _Rennervate_ by a strange old wizard. Harry supposed it might be the spell's uncomfortable effect that caused her to wake with a start, but it could just as easily be caused by the old wizard's appearance. Harry, for one, couldn't help but be transfixed.

He had a mane of grizzled, dark grey hair and a horribly scarred face. Remus had numerous scars, old and new, on his face as well, but those looked like minor scratches compared to the old man's deep scars; they covered almost every inch of this man's skin. A large chunk of his nose also seemed to be missing, but the defining feature was his eyes. His left eye was small and beady with a dark glint while his right was large, vivid and electric blue. The blue eye darted and rolled in an independent manner from the normal looking one, which was staring at Hermione at the moment. Harry was reminded of those fake glass eyes he read of in children's books before, except that this was a functional one, unlike its Muggle-created counterpart.

Ron pulled Hermione to her feet. The man—their new Defence professor—began climbing to his feet as well, though Harry thought he did so somewhat clumsily; with a start he realized that one of the man's legs is a wooden, claw-like replacement. The blue eye turned sideways, and the wizard growled.

"Problem, Potter?"

"No Professor. Sorry." Apparently he didn't appreciate the staring. Harry could sympathize.

It was only now that Harry took a good look around the classroom. Most of the desks and chairs that had been upturned, summoned or banished had returned to their normal places, although a few were left in a pile near the end of the room, damaged beyond the fixing power of a standard _Reparo_. There were also gashes on walls and cupboards, leftovers from their recent practical lesson. It would appear that Harry and Hermione were the last ones to return to consciousness, as almost everyone else huddled in small groups, staring at the strange new professor uncertainly. The man limped away, a dull _clunk_ for every other step he took, until he reached the front of the classroom and turned around.

"Sit down and books away. You won't need them in class." He commanded. All the Ravenclaws, plus Hermione, looked affronted, but the rest of the Gryffindors brightened at the prospect. With a wave of his wand the chalkboard was wiped clean.

"My name," He began, "is Alastor Moody. You may address me as Professor Moody or simply Professor. I am here to teach you for one year in the ways of Dark Arts and Defence."

"What, aren't you staying?" Ron blurted out. Moody locked both eyes on Ron, who looked apprehensive until slowly Moody broke into a smile—which, given his mismatched eyes and heavily scarred face, made a rather creepy sight.

"I am contracted for just the one year, as a personal favour to Dumbledore." He pulled out a slip of parchment. "Professor Lupin sent me a letter detailing your lessons from last year. I believe you had a pretty thorough grounding in Dark creatures and how to fight them, but as our little practical lesson indicated your spell work is sorely lacking. I take that back; what I have seen is appalling. And I fully intend to remedy that."

He swept the entire class with a dark look, as if daring them to protest. When none did, he continued. "Most of you went down within the first two minutes of the practical without casting a single spell. You were careless! Unprepared! And even when your fellows started dropping around you most of you stood by, confused, wringing your hands, and still DID NOTHING!"

His low growl grew louder, into a roar. "And this is the underlying strategy of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He hid in the shadows, relied on quick, devastating, _horrifying _attacks against his enemies that at the same time, caused confusion and fear among the public. Your parents had been part of that war, not two decades ago. At least a few of you have lost families to it, and yet I see that lessons were not learned, that the same mistakes were still being made, that most of you are still unwilling and unable to protect yourself, let alone others!"

"But Professor, we are still just students!" Terry Boot mustered up the courage to protest.

"Do you think Death Eaters care that you are underage? Do you know that two-third of the casualties of the last war were family members of people who defied You-Know-Who in some way?" Moody retorted, his face twisted with fury.

"Have you never wondered why Hogwarts only has a few hundred students when it can house over a thousand? That's because entire families were exterminated, regardless of blood status, if even one member fought against the Dark Lord. That's because Muggleborns were sought out and killed when they exhibited accidental magic for the first time—again, along with their Muggle and defence-less families. And all that time witches and wizards remained indecisive and let atrocity after atrocity happen because they weren't happening to them, because they thought that if they kept their heads down the Dark Lord would simply go away."

"Well, he did. We got really, really lucky, and one of the most terrible Dark Wizards of our age was stopped. But there are those who believed that he was not gone forever like we so wished. And even if he were, there will always be others, aspiring to his example. And thus you must always be on your guard. And I'm here to teach it to you..." He drew a deep breath and roared, "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

The entire class jumped. Moody drew his wand slowly. "Grab your books and prepare to take notes."

"But didn't you say we won't need our textbooks?" Parvati asked timidly.

"Let this be lesson one, class," Moody grinned, a malicious glint in his small dark eye. "You see… _I lied_."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The class spent the rest of the double period taking notes on curses, defence, and combat in general. Moody snorted at the idea of duelling and spoke almost gleefully of fighting dirty (or, in his words, being pragmatic); knowledge of spells and level of magical power was nothing compared to cunning and ingenuity of the human mind. He singled out and praised Harry for improvising during the mock battle, who reddened under the scrutiny of his classmates. Class couldn't end soon enough for him after that; when the bell rang at long last he was ready to sprint out the door.

"A moment of your time, please, Mr. Potter." Moody called after having the entire class swore not to repeat of their first Defence lesson until the weekends. He must have noticed Ron and Hermione's expressions, for he added quickly: "Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger can stay as well."

The three Gryffindors waited while everyone else left for dinner; Harry couldn't help noticing Padma giving him a bright smile on her way out. He turned his attention back to the new professor, who closed the door and hit it with a number of silencing charms. The three of them regarded the teacher apprehensively.

"There's no need to be alarmed, you lot." Moody said, hobbling back on his mismatched feet. "I just want to talk to you."

"You did spend the last three hours shouting 'Constant vigilance' in our ears, Professor." Harry couldn't help himself. Moody had another one of his teeth-baring smile.

"Why yes I did, and I'm pleased that you are practicing it already." He answered. "Now… do you have any idea why I asked for the three of you?"

The Gryffindors exchanged a look. Hermione took initiative. "This wouldn't have anything to do with our class today, would it?"

"An inspired guess, but no."

"That you are the invisible mystery man who spied on us that night with the Death Eater riot?"

"Figure that out, didn't you?" Moody nodded slowly, his blue right eye flickered towards Ron for a second. "I was… contacted… to help out during the riot. Young Mr. Weasley's father was an old friend of mine, and when I heard that you and your friends were hiding in the woods I decided to look for you, in case the rioters went past the Aurors and tried something: the-Boy-Who-Lived would make a very tempting target to them after all. Imagine my surprise when I saw you with my own two eyes; you have talent, but more importantly you had the instinct that by all rights should take years to develop. Perhaps those rumours about your exploits are true?"

Harry maintained his silence and merely glared at him. Moody ignored the look. "And our little practical lesson had revealed even more. You are a natural, Mr. Potter; a born fighter, even if you don't want to admit it. You are limited only by age and with the right tutelage, you will be _great_."

"Yours?" Harry narrowed his eyes. Fingering his wand, he wondered how much trouble he would get into for hexing a teacher.

"Perhaps." Moody actually stood up straighter, although Harry noticed the nearly-casual way the older wizard's hand glided towards his pocket, as if he knew what Harry was thinking and daring him to try. "I am not a young man anymore, but I can still teach you some valuable lessons."

"_Stop_." Harry didn't even remember grabbing his wand. His entire focus was on Moody, who was glaring at him with both eyes, his wand drawn as well. Ron and Hermione were silent and nervous as they watched the confrontation, unable to intervene. "What the hell are you trying to do here?"

There was a strange, nearly maniacal glint in the Defence Professor's dark eye. "To teach you the depth of the darkness that nearly destroyed our world; to forge you into the sentinel against that darkness. Surely you must understand the necessity, Mr. Potter? You of all people?" His voice was a hoarse whisper.

"What do you mean?" Hermione interjected, her voice a pitch higher than normal. She could see that her friend was stunned speechless for the moment.

"Like I said, I have heard things about your young friend. You-Know-Who seemed to have an unusual interest in him…I can feel it. _Taste_ it." Moody actually licked his lips as he said that. It proved to be the last straw for Harry.

"That's it. I'm out of here." He stepped away from the older man, dragging his best friends with him towards the exit. "You're insane."

"So I'm told," Moody laughed as the Gryffindors reached the door. "But that doesn't mean I'm wrong. Until next class, Mr. Potter."

A/N: Events in this chapter take place on September 4th, 1994.


	14. Choices

Disclaimer: I do not own Albus Dumbledore.

Chapter-14: Choices

"He's mental."

"Yes Harry."

"Totally unhinged."

"Completely."

"What did your brothers say his nickname is, Ron? 'Mad-Eye'?"

"That's him, mate."

"Apparently the madness had spread to his brain."

"Then again, he _is_ a friend of Dumbledore's. What else do you expect?"

Harry gave Ron a disbelieving look before laughing out loud; the redhead grinned goofily in return, while their brunette friend fought to hide a faint smile. Harry took a deep breath and composed himself.

"I just don't know what Moody was doing, or why he was saying all that to me. And I don't know why I got so mad either." He told his best friends.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. Ron spoke up first.

"Charlie did say that Moody was… off after the war. That he was forced to retire from the Corps, or something. If you want, I can ask Dad about it." He offered.

Harry gave it some thought before nodding. "It would be a good idea to learn more about him."

"Yeah; CONSTANT VIGILANCE, remember?" Ron snorted.

"But you have to admit, he did have a point." Hermione finally entered the conversation. The boys turned to her.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Harry, but he was right; you are unusually good with Defence. Really! You got the highest score in the final exam last year, by a fair margin, _and_ despite Slytherins getting extra tutoring from Snape." Her voice lowered, as she was reluctant to admit the next bit. "It was the only subject you beat me in. And I was close only because my written exam scored so high."

"Slytherins get extra tutoring from Snape?" Ron asked, focusing on the trivia and missing the point as usual. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Yes; in DADA and Potions anyway. Daphne Greengrass was very friendly with Padma, and Padma mentioned that in passing when we were comparing notes last year. The Slytherins accused Professor Lupin of showing favouritism, but obviously it's not the case." She turned to address both boys. "Cast a Shield Charm."

Harry raised an eyebrow but complied. The magical barrier appeared with a bluish glow. Hermione and Ron followed suit; hers was much fainter while his flickered out of existence after a few seconds.

"You didn't even know how to cast it before today, but you produced a functional shield on your first attempt. And you learned the Patronus Charm in your third year, producing a fully corporeal one that could repel a hundred Dementors at once. And there's the way you fought in class today. You actually held out against Moody, when he's invisible and silenced, for nearly a minute without help!" Hermione all but exclaimed. "Face it Harry: you really are gifted."

"That isn't what got me so worked up, Hermione." Harry struggled to find the right words. "It's the way Moody talked about it. Like I'm destined to be an unstoppable killing machine. Like I'm good for fighting and nothing else. Like I'm a weapon. Like I don't have a _choice_."

The last came out in a whisper.

"Of course you do. It's not like you're a legendary hero, a Chosen One or something." Ron slapped Harry's back hard, as if trying to slap him out of the funk—actually, knowing Ron, he probably was. "I know what you are going to be: Harry Potter, international Quidditch sensation, superstar Seeker for the Chudley Cannons…"

"I look horrible in orange. So do you, actually." Harry couldn't help but chuckle.

"Hey!" Ron shouted, indignant. Harry could feel his mood lifting despite himself; Ron really knew how to cheer him up. Then again, he was Harry's best mate for a reason.

"Well I, for one, think you should explore Defence. You do know your luck is rotten." Hermione, ever the voice of reason, brought them back to earth.

"Of course; it just won't be a year at Hogwarts without a death threat or four on Harry Potter, will it?" Harry answered sarcastically.

"And watch out for Defence Against the Dark Arts professors." Ron added cheekily. "Blimey, Moody's made his first moves already. I bet he was at the Opening Feast, invisible and all, stalking the students."

Hermione frowned, possibly replaying that night's events in her head.

"You know, that just might be the case," she gave Ron an approving nod (thoroughly unnerving Ron in the process) before rounding on Harry again. "Anyway, just because you don't like the instructor doesn't mean you shouldn't do well in the class. You can prove him wrong easily, by doing well in your other classes and getting the job you want. Show him you are better than he thinks."

"You do know that she's saying this just to get you to study more, right? How positively Slytherin of her." Ron leaned in to whisper into Harry's ear, except he made no effort to keep the volume down. Harry fought to stifle a laugh as Hermione threatened them both with basilisk-grade death glares.

And just like that things were alright again.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The prospect of weekend was such that not even Double Potions with Snape was able to dampen Harry's spirits. Hagrid was too busy dealing with the Blast-Ended Skrewts, so Harry made good his promise with Madam Pomfrey and visited her on Saturday afternoon, during which he was given his training schedule. He would have two shifts per week, one for Monday and the other Thursday, both evening shifts. Unlike his summer lessons, which concentrated on the theoretical side of Healing (human biology, potion properties, foundations in curse-breaking, etc.), the training sessions would focus on diagnosing magical ailments, counter-spelling, first aid, and general caring. Harry was really looking forward to it, and his attitude earned him a bright smile from the school nurse.

In the mean time the twins invited Harry to fly with them before next weekend's tryout. While they set their goals at becoming the Hogwarts Champion for the Triwizard Tournament, they were not adverse to the idea of playing for the school Quidditch teams. When they found out about his teatime arrangements they accused (good-naturedly of course) Harry of turning into a teacher's pet; until he pointed out that the matron wasn't really a teacher, and his teatime with Hagrid began long before he began teaching Care. He did give them permission to prank him senseless if he began having tea with Snape, however, which the twins gleefully accepted. He also noticed the longing look on Ron's face when the twins left with Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, two of Gryffindor house team's Chasers.

"So Katie's not going for the team?" Harry asked as he put the finishing touch to his Charms assignment. Hermione was off doing Merlin-knew-what, _again_, leaving the two boys behind to finish their homework in the common room.

"She said she has too much on her plate, with OWLs coming, and she was actually glad she won't have to worry about Quidditch this year." Ron answered with a scowl.

Harry bit back a sarcastic remark. Instead he said out loud, "So… are you going to go for it?"

Ron's eyes darted to the portrait hole, which had closed behind the departing sixth years. "Do you think I should? I'm alright as a Keeper, I think. The twins will probably laugh themselves stupid when I show up, though." He added, avoiding Harry's eyes.

Harry knew what his best friend needed to hear.

"I think it would be a wonderful idea; it'd be great if we're on the same team." He said encouragingly. "The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced. You _should_ go get some practice with Angelina, Alicia and the twins. They could definitely give you some pointers."

"The school brooms are rubbish." Ron said in a small voice.

"The twins' brooms aren't great either, and yet they are known as human Bludgers, feared by all the other House teams." Harry briefly entertained the idea of lending him his Firebolt but decided against it; Ron hated his hand-me-downs, but he hated the idea of charity even more. Instead he tried another approach. "I mean, look at Malfoy; he has a Nimbus 2001 and how many times had he ever caught the Snitch? Brooms are important, yes, but not as important as the person flying it."

That seemed to be the last nudge Ron needed; he nodded and shoved his half-completed assignment into his bag. "Coming, Harry?"

"No," he told Ron firmly after a moment of consideration. "I don't need to see you play; I _know _you can do it. I believe in you."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Ron left the common room with a determined look after that. He wouldn't be back until two hours later, tired and windswept but beaming as he took his usual spot next to Harry, who caught the twins' attention and gave them a questioning look. Fred gave him a shrug but George returned a tiny nod; Harry took that as a sign that Ron did well enough, if the twins weren't mocking their younger brother.

Meanwhile, the lanky redhead in question was piling food onto his plate, pulling every dish within range towards him—that was, until Dean and Seamus fought back and pulled everything their way. They continued their silly little tug-of-war until Neville intervened and plucked the last of the rolls from the plate.

"You do realize that you can ask the elves to refill the food… right?" He said mildly as he passed the rolls to Lavender, Parvati and Fay, who favoured him with smiles for his gentlemanly behaviour.

Apparently they didn't, for the Gryffindor fourth-year boys answered with blank looks. Neville reddened as he found himself the center of attention. "Well, that's what the kitchen elves told me."

Absentmindedly Harry brought out his wand and tapped the plate with it three times. The empty plate was quickly replaced by another one loaded with rolls. He grabbed two enthusiastically until he noticed the others staring. "What?"

"You know too? Have you been to the kitchen as well?" Ron asked incredulously. Harry thought he knew what prompted Ron's question, but strangely enough Hermione was paying class-level attention too.

Neville answered first. "Yeah… I mean, sometimes I work so late in the greenhouse I missed dinner. Professor Sprout dragged me to the kitchen a few times and got some food from the elves for me." He mumbled.

"Of course I do. I did arrange to have lunch at the kitchen during summer class, you know." Harry followed with a shrug. "And I know the Hufflepuff common room is near there. Sue told me."

Dean and Seamus grinned so suddenly it was unnerving. "_Sue_? As in Susan Bones?" They asked together. Lavender and Parvati leaned closer as well, sensing gossip-worthy material like sharks sensing blood; Hermione rolled her eyes in disgust. Harry decided to steer away from these dangerous waters.

"Err, yes?" He answered succinctly and turned to Hermione, before they had any chance of asking further. "What have you been up to these days? You keep disappearing for hours at a time. You are not taking twelve subjects using a Time-Turner, again, are you?"

"Of course not!" Hermione said defensively, ignoring Harry's suspicious look. "I just have things to do."

"We—that is to say, Ron and I—were a bit worried, that's all," He said finally. He decided to change the subject. "Can you help me with my Ancient Runes homework, if you have time? I've finished it but I'm wondering if you can take a look."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

It turned out to be a good idea to let Hermione check his Runes paper, as she found several mistakes in his translation. Ron joined them half an hour later, and what's more, he brought Neville along; they had to come up with predictions for the next month for their Divination assignment. Hermione huffed and glared as the two began making up outrageous predictions (aided and abided by Harry) but Harry thought it hilarious.

He decided to retire early when Hermione went through Ron's and Neville's Charms homework, as he had something else to study for. The boy's dormitory was empty when he found and opened the book Dumbledore gave him on occlumency. A note fell out of the book when he opened the cover.

_Harry,_

_The obscure branch of magic detailed in this book, while not Dark, is not one to be taken lightly. I had hoped not to burden you any more than necessary, but it seems I have little choice. You may want to practice discretion when you study this, and should you encounter problems or questions, come to see Professor Snape or myself immediately._

The note was unsigned but it was obvious who it was from. Harry pulled shut the curtains around his four-poster; it would be fine tonight but he should look for a secure location as soon as possible, preferably through consulting a certain piece of old parchment. He proceeded and skimmed through the first few chapters, which served as an introduction to the art and described its history. Apparently British Aurors were required to practice at least the basic form of occlumency, but (according to a scribbled note that Harry suspected to be his headmaster's handwriting) a budget cut in 1984 by the Ministry resulted in the course being cut from Auror Academy. Harry made a mental note to ask Madam Bones about this someday.

It wasn't until the fifth chapter that Harry found the practical detail for occlumency itself. The introductory form required the practitioner to clear away stray thoughts and emotions, to discipline one's mind and reach a state of blankness so that the mind could not be scanned even when probed. This first stage was best done through mediation, and Harry gave it a try.

Two hours later Harry let out a grunt of frustration. He wished he could say that he had achieved something, or at least got an inkling of what he's supposed to do, but he hadn't. He couldn't understand how to (as the book called it) compartmentalize his thoughts and detach his emotions; when he tried to mediate things kept surfacing in his mind. He knew it could not be rushed, and Dumbledore did say it might take years. Nevertheless, he resolved to practice it every night and master it as soon as possible. He did have secrets to learn, after all.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

"…'seventeen suns'?" Harry gave the runes on the sheet a look and hazarded a guess. His partner shook her head.

"No. When combined like this the 'sun' symbol takes on its secondary meaning 'day'. And that extra stroke after the number means 'sequence'. Together this means 'seventeenth day'." Luna Lovegood explained patiently.

Harry sighed as he crossed out his translation and scribbled down the one she provided. "Say it. This is hopeless."

The blonde merely shrugged and turned back to the sheet of runes. "Things will get better. Now let's try this next one…"

The second week of school was drawing to a close. It hadn't been a very good week for him overall and Harry could hardly wait for it to be over. It all began with the orientation seminar on Monday evening, when Madam Pomfrey met with her trainees and assigned schedules. Harry was the youngest and sole fourth-year present, for obvious reasons; Healing training was usually for NEWT students after all. This year's recruits were mostly sixth-years, along with two seventh-years, and it was quickly explained by the grumpy-looking school nurse. It turned out that the usual recruitment of trainees was hindered significantly by the upcoming Triwizard Tournament, which drew away a lot of prospective students. The result was that the hospital wing was now severely undermanned. While Madam Pomfrey would continue recruiting, the short-term solution was to give the current trainees one extra shift each, in return for additional credit for their NEWTs (which did not apply to Harry, but he was promised a reference letter when he took his OWLs next year). The students agreed, though not without some grumbling around.

Harry got to meet his partners for his training sessions, Roger Davies of Ravenclaw (Mondays) and Adrian Pucey of Slytherin (Thursdays and Saturdays) while the students mingled. Harry recognized both as sixth-years and Chasers on their respective house teams. The two were surprised to see that their co-trainee was a fourth-year student, and what's more it was Harry Potter. Davies was cold and reserved toward the Gryffindor; Harry suspected that Davies was simply unconvinced of his qualifications. He resolved to prove his worth to the Ravenclaw by working harder. Pucey on the other hand was polite and almost friendly, despite the mutual dislike between their houses and the fierce rivalry between their Quidditch teams; in fact Harry was tempted to call him the nicest Slytherin he had ever met. Harry was refilling his glass of lemonade when Davies practically dropped the next bombshell.

"I've been made captain of one of the School Quidditch teams. Johnson's the other one." He said nonchalantly.

"Congratulations." Harry said automatically. Davies nodded but Pucey frowned.

"I thought Diggory would be named." The Slytherin gave his peer a look. "The two of you are the longer-serving captains after all."

"Word is that he has his eyes set on the Tournament itself and declined," Davies offered.

"Oh?" Pucey raised an eyebrow. The Ravenclaw smirked at his expression.

"Let's just say it's from a reliable source and leave it at that." He said.

"What do you think of his chances?" Harry interjected. The two sixth-years gave it some thought before answering.

"Getting selected as the Champion? Pretty good actually. He is intelligent, talented, and a hard-worker. But can he win it all? I'm not too sure." Davies spoke first.

"He is called the Star of Hufflepuff not just for his sparkling good looks." Pucey's grin was not entirely benevolent. "He has almost as many nicknames as you do, Mr. Golden-Boy-of-Gryffindor."

Harry flushed but Davies came to his rescue. "Play nice, Adrian. As I was saying, I've been made captain. What I wanted to say is that tryouts will be held this Saturday at two in the afternoon." He finished with a significant look. Both Harry and Pucey dug out their shift schedules as realization hit them.

"We are scheduled for the Saturday afternoon shift!" Harry said in horror. Pucey simply grimaced.

A hint of sympathy entered Davies' voice. "I'll talk to Johnson, and see if she's willing to give you separate tryouts. The two of you are decent players, and I'd hate to see either one of you miss the team because you can't go to the tryout."

The Gryffindor and the Slytherin muttered their thanks. The three of them chatted some more, both on Quidditch and on Healer training, until Madam Pomfrey made a few more announcements and dismissed the students, calling it a night.

Harry spent some time practicing Occlumency before sleeping, but it was hopeless; he had difficulty getting his thoughts under control tonight, particularly with Ron's and Seamus' snoring factored into the equation, and the frustration he felt fuelled the cycle all over again. He knew he had nothing to show for tomorrow's meeting with Dumbledore. As he drifted into sleep Harry decided to contact the Headmaster and postpone their meeting.

He woke up early the next day and wrote a note apologizing to Dumbledore, and asking that they move their scheduled meeting to the next Tuesday. Hedwig was in the Owlery and quite happy to see him, that was until he gave the letter to a school owl. She barked in annoyance as the barn owl flew off.

"Look, this letter requires some secrecy, and I don't want people to recognize you and associate that letter with me." He said apologetically to the snowy owl, who gave him a hurt look. "Come to the Hall and get some bacon, alright?"

Harry hunted down Angelina during breakfast and asked her about the tryouts. She was sympathetic to his plight but could do little.

"I want to give you some leeway, too, Harry, but this is a team composed of people from all four houses. I cannot show you favouritism." She said with a scowl. "My captaincy is shaky enough as it is; I have it only because Diggory gave me his blessing. Montague is pretty good as a player but I won't trust him not to abuse his power if he were made captain."

Harry nodded warily. Angelina's expression softened. "We can really use you, Harry. You are the best Seeker in the school right now. I'd really hate to lose you simply because of a schedule conflict. Can you try to come?"

And to top it off, Hedwig was apparently too upset with him to show up.

Harry thought it a sad state of affairs when Potions with Snape was the first bright spot in his week thus far. While their mutual loathing for each other reached unprecedented levels, the man maintained his distance from his old nemesis' son—and turned his venomous insults on Neville instead. Only Hermione's intervention saved the timid boy from blowing up another cauldron. The Potions instructor countered this by ordering Ron to work with Neville from the next class on until further notice; in addition, he moved their table to the front of the classroom, isolating them from the rest of the Gryffindor students.

Ron's foul mood persisted throughout the rest of the week, even after Hermione promised to tutor Neville and him. Harry felt a tinge of urgency to perfect his Shield Charm as soon as possible.

The arrival of Thursday meant DADA and Moody again. The teacher had not exactly endeared himself to his students, and he went one step further by unveiling a new, controversial rule for the upper year classes: he would accept challenges from his students and if anyone bested him, he would give the student an automatic pass and a free period thereafter. The result was that over a dozen students were hospitalized within thirty-six hours, covered in curses and wounds. Madam Pomfrey was most displeased with the additional work her colleague so unkindly provided her.

And while Hermione called him paranoid, Harry had the nagging suspicion that fourth-years were included simply because Moody wanted to rile him up. The Defence professor kept leering in his direction during class, as if baiting him. Even Padma picked up on this, and she was worried enough that she cornered Harry after class.

"It's not like I have much of a choice," he said exasperatedly as the two of them set off for the Great Hall. He had an evening shift at the hospital wing tonight and wanted to finish dinner quickly. "He's holding a grudge against me, or something. I will try to keep a low profile and hope that he backs off."

He didn't like lying to her, but he didn't want to talk about last Thursday's confrontation, either. Padma gave him a sharp, penetrating look, but relented and they talked of other things until they reached the Great Hall. She gave him a pat on the shoulder before setting off for the Ravenclaw table.

The interaction did not go unnoticed, however, especially not to the ever-perceptive Hermione Granger.

"Is everything alright?" She asked quietly. Harry shrugged and told her his conversation with Padma between bites.

"Well that explained some things." She said with a nod. "Like why Padma looks so happy and Susan Bones looks annoyed."

"Sue? What does this have to do with—" Harry knew he must be doing a fair impression of a goldfish right now. "Oh sweet Merlin."

He _so_ did not need girl problems right now.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

In the end, Angelina and Davies decided not to hold an advance tryout for Harry and Pucey. Harry had no choice but to ask the school nurse for time off; she was not amused.

"Why didn't you come to see me sooner, Mr. Potter?" Madam Pomfrey asked sternly. Harry shuffled his feet as he searched for a good response and found none. "Mr. Pucey informed me of his situation on Monday and I was able to arrange a replacement for him. I cannot do the same for you, because I simply don't have the time. It will be horribly unfair if I call in someone—anyone—to cover the shift for you on such short notice."

Harry tried to protest but the Matron would have none of it. "This might not be a formal class, Mr. Potter, but you must take it seriously. You made a commitment and you have to stick with it, even if it comes in conflict with your other pursuits."

And last, but not least, Harry made the mistake of telling all this to Ginny Friday morning while they were waiting for Ancient Runes outside the classroom.

"What do you mean, you don't know if you will go to the tryout or not?" Ginny all but yelled. Ginny had just told him that she was going to try out for Chaser, despite the fact that it was the most competitive position—or perhaps, because of it. "This isn't just for Gryffindor house, this is for Hogwarts. You can't do this to us!"

Harry was searching for the right words to say when her demeanour suddenly changed.

"Unless… are you entering the Tournament, Harry?" She gave him a pointed look.

"Oh no," Harry replied, shaking his head vigorously. "Haven't you heard the stories they tell in the common room? They keep talking about the creatures the Champions had to face in the past, and how they stopped the Tournament because so many people got hurt or killed. I, for one, like some peace and quiet this year."

Ginny remained unconvinced. "It's still so unlike you, Harry. You love Quidditch!"

He was saved from answering by the timely arrival of Professor Babbling. Ginny kept sending him glares and Harry took refuge in the assignment he shared with the third-year Ravenclaw. He felt almost sad as the bell rang, signalling the end of class.

"Thanks for all your help, Luna." He said, mustering as much enthusiasm as he could.

The girl shrugged. "It is a group assignment, you know. I have to help you."

"But you are very thorough, making sure that I understand it." Harry insisted. He wanted to give credit where it's due, although part of him wondered why he was trying so hard. Luna blinked at him before nodding. The wand that she placed behind her ear stayed in its place, though, as if a sticking charm had been placed on it.

"Then I accept." She nodded briskly before saying, as if to thin air, "Things will get better, Harry Potter."

Harry wished he could believe her, but somehow her sympathetic words sounded so hollow right now.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

"Prepare a Purifying Potion, Potter. Instructions are on the bottle." Madam Pomfrey barked after examining the tentacle-like welts on Cormac McLaggen's face. The fifth-year Gryffindor had a mispronounced hex backfired on him, and the results were not pretty, to put it mildly. Harry hurried to the storage room even as the nurse scribbled a note and muttered something to Summers, a Hufflepuff sixth-year and Adrian Pucey's replacement for the day. Harry sighed and stole another look at the window. The Quidditch tryouts had begun an hour ago, and he could only imagine his teammates' and Ron's looks when he was nowhere to be found. Pouring the potion into a stone goblet (as it would burn through wood and melt through metal) he brought it to McLaggen's bedside. The older student downed it in two gulps and promptly passed out. The nurse simply adjusted the pillow under him.

"The welts will shrivel up after applying the Withering Salve, and can be removed safely. The Purifying Potion will prevent scarring, but it has a side effect that needs to be monitored closely. What is it?" She asked.

Harry gathered his thoughts and answered. "It makes the skin extremely tender for about two hours. If the patient scratches himself he may scar himself deeply. That is why an ingredient is added to induce calmness and sleep, to lessen that chance." He added as an afterthought.

Madam Pomfrey nodded and handed him the stone goblet. Harry put it in the sink, among other goblets and bottles, and began casting cleaning charms on them absentmindedly. His inattentiveness was duly noted by the Matron. She sighed.

"What are you doing here, Harry?" She asked gently.

Harry looked down, surprised. "Cleaning?"

"That's not what I was asking and you know it." She retorted promptly.

"To train, Ma'am," He answered, but he didn't sound very enthusiastic about it. "I committed myself and I intend to follow through with it."

Pomfrey sighed and gestured Harry to a seat. "Do you really think I should have found a replacement for you, Mr. Potter? That I should have tried harder, on your behalf?"

"No Ma'am." Harry said, wondering where this was leading to. "I mean, I don't want to be treated differently because of who I am."

"Good. But that is only one of the reasons I have you stay behind today." Pomfrey gave him a look. "I have watched you closely—though not as closely as the Headmaster and your Head of House—over the last few years. You have run headlong into danger more than once, but that had as much to do with circumstances as with your temperament. While boldness is an admirable trait, it is not one desirable in a Healer. This may be one of the most important lessons I can teach you. Healers face life-and-death situations, and it is not their own lives that are at stake. They—and you—must learn to choose your battles. Face them, but take charge, and fight on your own terms.

"You must learn to rein in your emotions and control your impulses. You must learn to think first and act second. You must learn to take a step back and assess the situation, instead of charging in blindly and without a plan. You must learn to make choices, hard choices, not just between what's right and what's easy, but what's right and what's _righter._"

She was silent for a moment as Harry took in her speech.

"Now tell me again, Mr. Potter." She took a deep breath. "What _are_ you doing here?"

"To learn the Healing Arts." He fixed his eyes with hers, his answer firmed.

"Why?" Pomfrey raised an eyebrow.

"Because I choose to."

A/N: Events in this chapter take place between September 4th and 13th, 1994.


	15. Countdown

Disclaimer: I do not own Luna Lovegood.

Chapter-15: Countdown

Harry fully expected his housemates to give him grief that night at dinner for his no-show at the Quidditch tryout. Aside from a few dark looks from Angelina and Alicia, however, he was left in relative peace. Fred and George avoided looking at him and were discussing something with their best friend Lee Jordan; the twins looked angry, but somehow Harry had the impression that their anger was not directed at him. He was most grateful of Ron and Hermione's support. They had waited outside the Great Hall for him and walked him to their usual spot at the table, and instead of badgering him about his decision they talked of other things, from the next Hogsmeade weekend (Ron teasing him about Susan) to the food tonight (kidney pie) to their Herbology essay (the discussion of which Neville joined enthusiastically). It wasn't until they were back in their common room that Angelina walked over and asked to talk to him alone. Harry mentally braced himself.

"You didn't show up today." The Chaser said as they reached a more secluded part of the common room.

"I'm sorry." Harry said immediately. Angelina rolled her eyes at that.

"Don't be." She told him. "I don't mean to be so hard on you before. I still wish you're on a team—even if it's Rogers' and not mine—but I understand that your priorities aren't the same as mine. Just promise me one thing."

"What's that?" He asked.

"McGonagall told me she had gotten used to seeing the Quidditch Cup in her office, and I really want to lift the Cup once more before graduating." Angelina said. "So when you get back on the team next year, I want you to play like a sexually-repressed mountain troll and catch the Snitch every single game. Is that clear?"

"Crystal." Harry answered with a grin.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry and Angelina chatted for a few more minutes after that, when she told him about the two Hogwarts teams' rosters. The starting positions were dominated by veterans from the four house teams, but there were a few new faces and promising young talents among the reserves.

Hogwarts Second was captained by Roger Davies. The top Chaser line boasted Davies himself, as well as Pucey and Warrington (both of Slytherin) as Chasers. Fred and George were their Beaters, and Cho Chang was their starting Seeker. Daphne Greengrass, a Slytherin girl in Harry's year, was her backup.

Anglina's team, Hogwarts First, included Angelina herself along with Alicia Spinnet and a Ravenclaw fourth-year named Michael Corner on the Chaser squad. Stebbins of Hufflepuff and Bole of Slytherin were the Beaters, although Harry had to admit he didn't know much about either of them. The last player's name on the other hand was all too familiar for Harry's liking: Draco Malfoy had managed to secure the position of starting Seeker after all. Zach Smith and Astoria Greengrass were two of the reserves, but it was the third reserve that surprised and delighted Harry the most: Ron had made it onto the team as backup Keeper.

Harry agreed to help train Astoria Greengrass, Daphne's sister in second year and Malfoy's backup; according to Angelina she could play Chaser as well and was quite good at both positions, despite her age and inexperience.

A little while later Harry rejoined his friends. There were two other people with them at the table. One of them was Neville, which wasn't too surprising; he had been hanging out with Ron a lot more often since term started. The other person, however, was Colin Creevey, who was conversing in low tones with Hermione.

Harry walked over and swat at Ron's head. "Prat."

"Ouch! What's that for?" Ron demanded, rubbing the back of his head. Next to them Neville chuckled.

"That's for not telling me that you made reserve Keeper on Angelina's team." He beamed at the redhead. "Well done, Ron. I know you have it in you."

"It was supposed to be a surprise." The lanky boy said with a grin. It disappeared and he looked down at his hands. "I wish you're on the team with me, though."

"You'll do fine." Harry said with a smile. "I will help Angelina train her backup Seeker, so you will see me around anyways."

Ron brightened visibly at this, but before they could talk more Quidditch Colin interrupted them.

"Are you joining the reformed duelling club, then, Harry?" Colin asked even as he pulled out a quill and a notepad. Ron and Harry exchanged a look.

"I don't think I will, no." Harry answered carefully as younger Gryffindor began scribbling. His eyes narrowed. "Any particular reason you'd think that, Colin?"

"Word is that you passed over Quidditch because you want to enter the Triwizard Tournament, and that you're training with Madam Pomfrey for the same reason. We at the _Headliner _would love to have an interview with you to discuss these rumours—"

"The_ Headliner_?" Harry was confused. "What's that?"

"You don't know?" Colin stared back.

"I haven't told him yet." Hermione interjected, resignation in her voice. Four pairs of eyes turned to her. She sighed. "It's the newly founded school newspaper. A group of Ravenclaws started kicking around the idea, to write articles for the _Daily Prophet_ about life at Hogwarts. They couldn't come to an agreement but the idea snowballed from there. It'd be mostly about the Tournament, but also current events inside and outside Hogwarts. So many people are oblivious to things in the outside world it is appalling. Professor Dumbledore agreed on the conditions that we cover our own expenses and put in a comic section."

Something clicked in Harry's mind. "_We_, Hermione?" He asked.

"I'm the assistant editor." Hermione turned a shade of pink, but her eyes danced with pride. "Colin is a reporter and our chief photographer."

"What about the expenses?" Neville entered the conversation for the first time.

"Remember Mr. Lovegood, the newspaper man who went to the World Cup with us?" Ron and Harry nodded while Neville shook his head. "He is the owner, publisher and editor for a paper called _The Quibbler_. Fawcett arranged a deal with him; in return for his help and using his printing press Mr. Lovegood gets to put the _Headliner_ in his paper as the Hogwarts section. He will even take care of the advertisement for us. It is a win-win situation actually; people would love to know about things happening at Hogwarts, especially with the Tournament this year."

"You were in the thick of this, and you never told us?" Ron said with an accusing tone.

"I only found out last week! And I have been so busy since then!" Hermione retorted. "You wouldn't believe how bad their journalistic skills were! I have been working non-stop to raise the standards!"

"I thought you were going to—oh I don't know—start a society to promote elfish welfare or something, after what happened with Mr. Crouch's elf and all." Harry noted dryly.

"I am not dropping that issue. In fact I fully intend to write a series of articles about it. But I can't raise public awareness of the poor elves' plight unless there is a platform to discuss the situation." Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Anyways, our first ever issue will come out next Monday," Colin intervened before the witch worked herself into a full-steam rant. "People wonder about you more than you realized, Harry; there will be a hundred rumours by Monday speculating on why you didn't bother to try out for the teams."

Harry groaned. "Why does everyone want me to enter the stupid Tournament?"

"You are a bloody hero? Defeater of You-Know-Who? Like, twice?" Neville suggested as Colin shot Harry a wide-eyed look. The third-year hadn't heard about the Philosopher's Stone incident as it was before his time. "And then there's that thing you did during the World Cup? Any of these ring any bells?"

"I'm starting to think Harry _should_ enter the Triwizard Tournament." Ron said with a toothy grin. "I mean, it's fast becoming a Hogwarts tradition to have some threat or another on Harry's life every year. Why not go ahead and be done with it?"

"I so move that Harry enters the Tournament." Hermione said with a mischievous smile.

"I second that motion." Neville grinned, playing along.

"All in favour?" Ron laughed as three hands shot up. "The motion carries! The public had spoken, mate."

Harry sighed tragically as he turned to address a bemused Colin. "And these are my best friends."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Things settled into a routine, more or less, in the next few weeks as Harry adjusted to the changes in his schedule. That wasn't the same as good or easy, however: he found himself extremely busy, even on weekends, due to his various commitments. At Hermione's suggestion he owl-purchased a lesson planner (and one for Hermione) to better manage his time, but even with its help he found himself nearly overwhelmed.

He was doing reasonably in all of his classes save two. Having practiced magic throughout summer, Harry found himself ahead—if only marginally—in the practical components of Transfiguration and Charms, even eliciting a faint smile from McGonagall and a squeal of delight from Flitwick. On the other hand, he had decided to ignore Binns altogether during History; the fact that he spent it with the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs meant that he was mostly undisturbed in his activities. While he couldn't sleep through the period without earning glares from his more studious classmates, he spent the time seated in the back of the classroom doing other things, like catching up on homework, or Healing studies (in particular, Counter-cursing, which was giving him a lot of trouble), or sometimes even practicing Occlumency. The discipline of mental magic provided no resistance to Binn's droning voice, to Harry's bitter disappointment.

Thanks to Madam Pomfrey's training over the summer his work in Potions improved dramatically this year. Having gained greater understanding in the theoretical aspects, he was now much more aware of how things work, and his brews improved accordingly. Snape, in his frustration, became even harsher with his treatment of Ron and Neville; only through Hermione's nightly tutelage and Ron's sheer stubbornness were the two boys able to scrape a passing average in that class.

Moody's practical lessons—better known as his reign of terror, Harry thought—continued. While he still glared and leered (and shot spells) at Harry from time to time, he had not approached the younger wizard again. The one subject that Harry had the most trouble with was Ancient Runes. Harry did not know how he'd fare if not for Luna's remarkable patience with him. In return, Harry tried to help Luna with her transfiguration and DADA homework whenever she needed it.

In some ways he was almost driven to seek her company. Thanks to their different timetables and extra-curricular activities, Harry was spending a record-low amount of time with Ron and Hermione. Hermione spent most of her spare time with the _Headliner_ crew, especially now that it had published the first issues and received positive feedback. Thanks to the planner Harry did not forget Hermione's birthday this year, and decided to get his female best friend something other than books. After careful deliberation he selected a new winter cloak from a catalogue and bought it via Hedwig. Hermione was quite happy with it, and thanked him with a smile and a hug.

Meanwhile Ron had nearly-nightly Quidditch practice, despite being only a reserve. Whatever spare time he had he needed to catch up on homework—with Neville, who shared almost all classes with Ron this year. Harry had to admit to feeling a pang of jealousy, even if he squashed it quickly, whenever he saw Ron and Neville shared a joke over their Divination homework or scowled over their Potions essay: it wasn't so long ago that Ron and _he_ shared these same moments. But it was he who chose Healing training over Quidditch; it was he who chose to study different subjects this year. How could he begrudge Ron if the redhead sought companionship elsewhere? And hadn't he resolved to become a better friend for Neville over the summer?

And speaking of Quidditch—while he wasn't on a team he still had his Firebolt, and whenever he felt like it he could simply fly with Astoria and called it 'training' with the reserve Seeker. The second-year girl would teach him a few Chasing moves as well, which in turn made Harry a bit better when he helped with Ron's training.

Roger Davies and Adrian Pucey were both annoyed once they found out Harry was helping train Astoria, but not as annoyed as when they discovered Harry learning Chasing from her. Both were Chasers and felt it a slight against them; surely, they reasoned, Harry could do better than to go to a second-year reserve for this? Harry's feeble protests fell on deaf ears and he was dragged off to practice with the sixth-years every Saturday, after his shift at the hospital wing. He stopped complaining after one look at Roger's team, when Cho beamed and waved at him.

He'd be the first to admit that it was a shallow reason, but an opportunity to get to know Cho better was not one he would let slip so easily. He spent some time Chasing with Davies and Pucey but he spent even more time flying with Cho and Daphne Greengrass, Cho's backup. That lasted until the third week of practice, when Astoria simply showed up by herself and all four of them began flying together, despite being on different teams (or in Harry's case, not on a team at all).

Originally he was doing it as a favour to Angelina, but as time went on he could say that he had grown to like little Astoria. She was cheery, polite, occasionally snarky, and fanatical about Quidditch. She was very much like Pucey in that to Harry, neither seemed like 'real' Slytherins at all, until one looked beyond the surface and saw how driven they were toward their goals, their aspirations—they were ambitious alright. Sometimes Harry wondered if they were the exemptions or the norm in the House of Snakes, or perhaps he just had his perceptions clouded by the likes of Snape and Malfoy.

Daphne Greengrass, on the other hand, was much closer to what Harry expected of a Slytherin. Far more reserved than her younger sister, she was the only one to call him 'Potter' during practice, and Harry couldn't resist answering with 'Greengrass' while calling Astoria by her given name. She was also a fierce competitor; the fact that Malfoy practically bought his way onto Slytherin's Quidditch team and what's more, had been losing games for them since second year did not sit well with her. Getting onto the school team had been a great stepping stone for her, even if it were only a reserve position; she fully intended to prove herself the superior Seeker and depose Malfoy next year.

But perhaps most importantly, Harry was discovering a side of Cho Chang he never thought he'd see: under her gentle exterior there was a passionate desire to excel. It wasn't directed at her academic work either; the sole reason she partitioned her mother for a new broom was that she missed the Snitch against Harry—the only time she failed to catch it all of last year. With her new Aurora Cho could give Harry a real challenge, one that he welcomed and enjoyed. He still wished he could make the time to see her off the pitch, but both of them were busy with their school work, especially as Cho was in her OWL year.

Cedric came by once or twice to watch them fly too, although he never mounted a broom and joined them. From what Harry heard he was running the duelling club ragged as they prepared for the selection of the champions.

Harry still couldn't find a good place to practice it, so in the end he charmed the cover of the Occlumency book to disguise it as a cookbook. It was frustrating; he practiced nightly but couldn't seem to make any progress. Sometimes he wondered if that was exactly Dumbledore's intention, to distract him and occupy his time so that Harry couldn't ask the awkward questions.

He told himself he was getting paranoid like Mad-Eye Moody.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry was making his way back to Gryffindor tower after his shift on Thursday. He was brooding on his unfinished Charms essay when he nearly ran into a figure in a flamboyantly-cut crimson robe. "Professor Dumbledore!"

"Ah, always a pleasant surprise, Harry." The older man said pleasantly. He had just walked out of Professor Moody's office. "Just finished your training, I presume?"

"Yes sir." Harry nodded. It was fairly rare to see the Headmaster out and about so late at night, if at all; then again, they could simply be catching up on old times. Harry recalled Moody saying he was an old friend of Dumbledore's. The old wizard's blue eyes were twinkling when Harry started and looked away.

"You have been practicing." Dumbledore said approvingly but the student sighed.

"I'm not making much headway though. It's downright frustrating at times." Harry told him.

"Harry," The Headmaster took on a sterner tone, "I did tell you that it might take you years. I also told you to come see my on Tuesday nights, so I can evaluate your progress, did I not?"

Harry looked down, ashamed. "Yes sir. I'm sorry."

"There are other matters we have to discuss aside from your reading material. There are quite a few people who wish to speak to you." Dumbledore told him. Harry looked up, intrigued. The old wizards smiled.

"I find Jumja sticks most enjoyable at eight o'clock."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

"I'm surprised you are not taking Arithmancy," Harry said as he looked over Luna's Divination homework. "Not that there's anything wrong with Divination…okay I lied. I think it's a load of tripe and I don't even know why Divination is part of Hogwarts' curriculum. I mean, you either have the gift for it or you don't, right? It can't be taught."

Luna shrugged, her radish earrings dancing below her ears. "Divination, at its purest, _can _be taught into you. Wizards and magic are much more intuitive than Muggles and their logic. Proper training can refine that sense of intuition, but you have to genuinely _believe_ to make divination work."

"Believe?" Harry repeated incredulously. Luna blinked.

"Sometimes I forgot you were raised by Muggles. Belief is a powerful thing, Harry, especially among Wizardkind. There are aspects of magic that cannot be explained through logic; you just have to have faith, believe that it can work. You have to believe in divination to power it."

The image of Trelawney and the prophecy she uttered in that strange, coarse voice came to Harry's mind. "What about Seers and prophecies?" He asked.

"True Seers are those who can do divination without prior training. The prophecies they tell are powered not by their personal magic, but the collective belief of Wizardkind—at least that's the theory. They are really rare, perhaps a half-dozen per century, and prone to attack from Crimson Chilaflies."

Harry listened to her explanation patiently. He raised an eyebrow but did not press her about Crimson Chilaflies. The two of them were in the library, him working on his Ancient Runes homework and her, her History essay in the relative peace of an early Sunday morning. "Century. _Udo-Criz_."

"_Cwiz_." Luna corrected, sucking on her sugar quill. "You are getting better."

"Thanks. I think I'll have a go at Professor Babbling's runic puzzles soon. Have you tried them?" Harry asked. The blonde shook her head.

"Not yet. I do the runic puzzles in _The Quibbler _all the time, and I don't feel like doing them just for grades."

"Well, that explains why you're so good at Runes." He sent a distasteful look at her Muggle Studies textbook. He read a few chapters of Hermione's copy last year, and did not like what he found at all. "The information in this book is badly out of date. And isn't Professor Burbage a pureblood? No offence, but wouldn't a Muggle-born or half-blood be better suited to teach this subject?"

"She's alright, actually, having lived among Muggles for a few years. She hates the books too, but of the ones approved by the Ministry those are the best. She gave us a study guide and told us to ignore the book at the beginning of the year." She said.

"So it's a matter of politics?" He nodded his understanding and scribed a note on a spare bit of parchment. It was becoming something of a habit, that whenever he spoke to Luna he would write down things of note so that he could refer to it later. In this case, for instance, this was something that he could discuss with Hermione about, something that she might turn into an article or two for the _Headliner_.

"Mm-hmm." The Ravenclaw third-year answered dreamily. "My father called it Bobbing-head Syndrome."

Harry grinned. Conversing with Luna was a strange but not unpleasant experience, and she could be surprisingly insightful at times. "Speaking of which, I heard _The Quibbler_ is drawing a lot of interest with the new Hogwarts section from _The Headliner_."

A large sign had been erected at the marble staircase in the Entrance Hall the day before, announcing the arrival of the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang in one week's time. Needless to say, it became the talk of the school within an hour. Hermione was up at six this morning to work with her colleagues at the school newspaper; they were writing an extra series on the history of the Tournament, and _The Quibbler_ was printing special editions due to popular demand.

"Daddy said that if sales keep up, he will consider changing our format from monthly to bi-weekly. He's saving up so that we can go on an expedition for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks!" Luna beamed.

Harry had no idea what a Crumple… whatever was, but her enthusiasm was infectious.

"Maybe I will sign up for a subscription too." He said with a smile. "If nothing else, I can always practice with the runic puzzles."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Luna left shortly afterwards, humming some sort of lullaby under her breath as she drifted away. Harry finished the last four inches of his DADA written paper ("research and analysis on _Protego Specialis_, the Shield Charm for Spell Deflection") and was just about to call it a day when someone approached his table.

"Hello Sue." He smiled as the girl dropped into the seat next to him. "How are you?"

"Fine." Susan Bones answered in a low voice before looking up. "Is it alright if we talk?"

"Of course." Harry put down his quill. "You're my friend Sue. So what can I do for you?"

The Hufflepuff girl took a deep breath. "It's just that we don't really talk to see each other a lot these days. Outside of class, I mean."

"More my fault than yours, I'm afraid. And there's the fact that we are in different Houses." The Gryffindor gave her an apologetic smile. "Although, Hermione and Ron complained of the same thing too, and we're in the same House."

"You are pushing yourself too hard." Susan chastised him, gesturing to the books and stationary scattered across the table. "You've even dropped Quidditch, for Merlin's sake."

Harry ran a hand through his messy black hair. "It's just a one-year hiatus. There are so many things I want—and need—to do. Besides, I still fly around and practice with Cho and the Greengrass sisters."

"Just don't overwork yourself." She pointed at the bags under his eyes, barely hidden behind his glasses. Her other hand somehow found its way to Harry's, without the boy realizing it until now, but instead of embarrassment he found himself enjoying the warmth of it. He squeezed it gently.

"I promise." He said with a serene smile. "In fact, I already have something in mind for the Hogsmeade weekend next month. Unless you have other plans?"

Susan shook her head and returned a smile of her own. Harry let go of her hand, more reluctantly than he expected, as she rose from her seat.

"I'll see you around, Ms. Bones?"

"You most certainly will, Mr. Potter."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Despite his apprehension Harry did not hear a thing from Hogwarts' much loved and feared rumour mills; he thanked the stars that Susan was practicing a bit of discretion, at least. He found himself met with the usual cheerful mood from most of his Hufflepuff acquaintances on Monday during Herbology, but Hannah Abbott in particular seemed to giggle whenever she caught him looking at them. Susan, for her part, seemed to be oblivious but Harry thought her livelier than ever—she was almost glowing.

Was he falling in love? He wasn't entirely sure. Ron, aided and abetted by Dean and Seamus, teased him incessantly. He considered asking Hermione for advice, but decided in the end that he should sort out his feelings on his own instead; his female best friend seemed to be buried under her workload again, between schoolwork and the _Headliner_. He did have a rudimentary idea for the date but still had some details to work out. He must be more distracted that he realized, for both Padma and Luna sensed it (Luna mentioned several treatments until Harry assured her that he wasn't infested with Wrackspurts) , but Harry did not feel like explaining to either of them—it was none of their business after all.

On Tuesday night at ten to seven Harry approached the stone gargoyle on the second floor. Wondering idly where the confection originated, Harry told the guardian, "Jumja stick."

Professor Dumbledore was not alone in his office. Seated in one chair was a square-jawed witch in crimson robes; Harry gave Madam Bones a polite nod. But it was the very familiar wizard standing in another corner who drew Harry's attention. With prematurely greying hair and threadbare robes, Remus Lupin gave Harry a tired yet genuine smile.

"Remus!" Harry launched himself at his former professor. Remus, initially taken aback, recovered quickly and returned the hug with a laugh. Dumbledore watching mirthfully behind his half-moon glasses, offered a lemon drop to Madam Bones while the two friends greeted each other.

"How is Padfoot?" Harry started off by asking of his absent godfather. He wasn't so senseless as to use the man's real name in Madam Bones' presence, of course.

"The old dog is at home nursing his wounds." At Harry's startled look he quickly added, "He ran into a booby trap while sniffing around. It's no big deal, though, so relax."

Harry stole a glance at Madam Bones, wondering how much he could reveal in front of her. She might be an ally against Voldemort, but her loyalty was to the Ministry. Remus nodded knowingly but before he could reply Madam Bones spoke up.

"It would be best for all parties involved that you do not discuss the current location of Sirius Black within my earshot." The Director of DMLE said. "My personal belief aside, my department is heading the hunt for him after all."

Harry was about to protest but Dumbledore was faster. "While it forced Sirius to remain in hiding, I believe we can take advantage of the situation. Using the manhunt as a cover, Amelia was able to assign Aurors to investigate suspected Death Eaters and their sympathizers."

"Unfortunately, the Minister for Magic is reluctant to commit more resources to Black's case, despite our manoeuvring." Susan's aunt explained to Harry. "We were hoping to arrange a sighting of Black back in Britain, preferably by you, but we are worried that the Minister will simply bring out the Dementors again."

"After the near-disaster last year?" Harry was assaulted three times last year by the soul-consuming creatures, and even if he could repel them now he still wouldn't want to see them around the school again. Remus' expression was equally solemn.

"While hell was raised on your behalf last year, Fudge has more than politics to evaluate. The Dementors have been restless since Sirius' escape, and when you denied them Sirius' soul at the end of last year—"

"I beg your pardon?" Madam Bones interrupted loudly, as this was information she wasn't made aware of. "Are you saying that the fourth-year student in front of me drove off a hundred Dementors at once using the Patronus Charm, a spell that isn't taught at Hogwarts?"

"A corporeal Patronus, Amelia." Remus answered, pride in his voice. "Harry was the top of his class in Defence last year."

"I see that Alastor's praise of young Mr. Potter is not unfounded," Madam Bones nodded. Harry fidgeted in his seat; he thought he caught a calculating gleam in her eyes. Remus chuckled in amusement.

"Isn't it a bit early to start recruiting, Madam Bones?" Remus said.

Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly. "We are not here to discuss Harry's career choice. Can we get back to the subject at hand?"

"What was the subject at hand, again?" More than her physical resemblance, the way the witch arched her eyebrow reminded Harry of her young niece: equal parts exasperation, sarcasm, and amusement. He called upon what little mental discipline his Occlumency sessions gave him to keep his thoughts in line. "You still have to admit, though, that Mr. Potter represents one solution to our problems. If he were willing to lend his public support…"

"Harry is not political capital to be spent, Amelia." Dumbledore said, his blue eyes icy, his tone dangerous.

"Nor should he be hoarded as such," argued Madam Bones. "The DMLE is being downsized; veteran Aurors and Hit-Wizards are let go and the number of applicants dropping to record-low levels. The Corps need funding and manpower. The riot in August helped sway public opinion, but Mr. Potter can add to it, perhaps even convince Fudge."

"It can also set Cornelius firmly opposite Harry, have you considered that?" Dumbledore countered. "And this is hardly Harry's responsibility, but ours."

"Yet he does have a stake in this." Remus interjected mildly while putting a hand on the young Gryffindor. "Perhaps you should ask Harry for his opinion, Headmaster, Director."

"I agree," Madam Bones recovered quickly. "He is more than capable of making his own decisions."

Harry found himself the focus of the three adults present; he forced himself not to squirm. While he appreciated Professor Dumbledore's concerns, a part of him was feeling reckless and rebellious. He took a deep breath.

"What do you have in mind, Madam Bones?"

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Madam Bones left with a promise to keep him informed of their plans; Remus gave him two hugs ("One from Padfoot and one from me," he said with a smile) and assured him that he would see him again soon. Harry was about to bid the Headmaster goodnight when Dumbledore stopped him.

"Even though I still have my misgivings, I am not going to try to dissuade you." And he hadn't; the Headmaster made suggestions that smoothed out the rough edges and pointed out the flaws in the plans. The old wizard retrieved a vial from his desk drawer. A silvery substance, seemingly liquid and gas and neither, swirled in the bottle. "I do believe this is yours."

Harry unplugged the bottle. It is a memory. "The one you gave me last month, Harry. Simply touch it with your wand and bring it to your temple. Concentrate on the hole in your memory and it will return to the right place."

Harry did as instructed. The strands of memory entered his head and he seemed to see the events of that night flash in front of his eyes in a second. "Whoa."

"The sensation of a returned memory is strange, I daresay." Dumbledore said. The twinkle in his eyes then dimmed. "Now that that is concluded we should move on. I would like to evaluate your progress in Occlumency."

"What, right now?" Hastily, Harry added, "Sir?"

Even without using legilimency Dumbledore could sense the student's unease and wariness. "If you feel uncomfortable with me I can always ask another Legilimens to help you. Professor Snape, for instance."

"Snape is a Legilimens?" Harry blurted out in alarm. His brain shifted into overdrive. "Is that how he seems to know so many things he shouldn't have?"

The professor did not reply, but his eyes twinkled as he watched Harry process the information. Harry regarded him suspiciously. _Was it a slip of the tongue? Or a clue fashioned like one? If yes, then for what? So that I'd be more careful around Snape? Or was it a genuine mistake, and he was doing his twinkle-eye thing to confuse me? Well it was doing a fine job…wait, eye contact! _"Argh."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers under his chin and looked at Harry behind his half-moon glasses. Harry suspected that he was suppressing a laugh at _his_ expense. "That was a gentler, more passive form of Legilimency; it was subtle and difficult to detect. Even if one were not trained in Occlumency, a strong mind and lack of eye contact would break it. The more forceful forms, however, can be dangerous to both the user and the target. At the moment your defence is weak. The best you can do is to be alert and avoid extended eye contact with others, but it is more of an evasive manoeuvre."

"Then how do I strengthen my defences, sir? I'm still on the 'clear your mind' step." Harry asked.

"Try to think of the sky, blue, cloudless. Focus on that and then… unfocus." Dumbledore said as he pulled out his wand. "Prepare yourself. _Legilimens_."

Blue skies, no clouds… flying on the Nimbus for the first time… the sight of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, filled with excited children and their family… Ginny, clutching his arm, shaken but alive… the soft, warm smile of Remus Lupin, his father's friend and now his… a short blond girl in a red cloak… the Awards for Service to the School, with Ron's and his names on it… majestic Hogwarts… a cold, high laugh and a green flash…

"No!" Harry found himself lying on the floor. The Headmaster remained behind his desk, frowning, as the student climbed back to his feet shakily.

"Think of something you associate with blankness and neutrality. Let it fade into the background and don't think of anything else." Dumbledore raised his wand. "_Legilimens_."

A grey, blank wall… redheads in a flying Ford Anglia, rescuing him from the prison that was the Dursley home… the photo album from Hagrid, his parents waving at him… twinkling blue eyes behind half-moon glasses… the Gringotts cart, one speed, all insanity…_ It's a date,_ the brunette said after kissing his cheek… the Firebolt… helpless Muggles, spinning in mid-air…

"STOP!" Harry was on his knees when his vision cleared. He heaved in quick, shallow breaths as if he had just run a marathon.

"You let me get in too far. If those are your most important memoires then protect them, like the treasure that they are. _Legilimens_."

Cedric and Cho and a pair of star-shaped glasses… _Up_ he said and the broom leaped into his open hand… proud, glowing Prongs, driving back the soul-consuming darkness… the grateful look from the foreign wizard… Dudley squealed as the boa constrictor escaped… Neville being swarmed by fellow Gryffindors, after earning ten points and winning the House Cup… Cho, her beautiful black hair flying in the wind… black, dark, nothing… Harry steadied himself by grabbing the back of a chair.

"A marginal improvement; but you can do better than that Harry, I know you can. _Legilimens_."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

By the time they were done it was nearly eleven, although to Harry it felt like they'd been at it for ages. His head hurt and his body ached; he had fallen to the floor, hit the chairs and crashed into the desk so many times he probably had bruises all over. His return trip was uneventful (he had to avoid a patrolling prefect on the fifth floor—while he had a legitimate reason to be out so late at night he would rather not publicize his recent dealings with the Headmaster) and soon he was back at Gryffindor Tower.

Before letting him go Dumbledore told him in no uncertain terms to return in two weeks for his next session. Harry resolved to do better, as the last thing he wanted was for Dumbledore to lose patience and delegate the task to Snape. The Gryffindor shuddered at the thought of the Potions master invading his mind under the pretext of teaching him Occlumency; it was a situation to avoid at all cost. He had too many secrets to hide from the Slytherin Head of House, the whereabouts of a certain untried ex-con chief among them.

The rest of the week flew by in a blur, and the imminent arrival of the two foreign schools only caused more excitement in the school. It seemed as if half of Hogwarts' population was entering the Tournament; as the twins said to Ron, even if the chance was slim it wouldn't hurt to simply enter your name into the contest. The identity of the impartial judge was still unrevealed, prompting numerous wild speculations to fly in the school. Harry was actually surprised that the twins weren't taking bets on the selection of champions, and he told them so.

"We've decided to sit this out," Fred said as the entire school, organized by House returned to the front of the castle.

"Conflict of interest and all," finished George with a non-committal shrug.

Harry wasn't entirely convinced, but McGonagall's piercing glare silenced much of the conversations among the Gryffindors.

The delegation from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic arrived at five minutes before six in a four-storied, powder blue carriage pulled by a dozen winged horses. Their Headmistress, Madame Olympe Maxime, was an olive-skinned, dark-eyed and majestic woman who happened to stand at over nine feet tall. Her blue-uniformed students seemed like dwarfs around her, and even Professor Dumbledore seemed like a child next to the witch. Madame Maxime elected to stay and wait for the delegation from Durmstrang alongside her Hogwarts counterpart, and one of the girls made a quick gesture. The French students immediately fell into a loose formation next to the locals. Harry wondered if the girl, who was still clutching a muffler around her head, was a Head Girl or whatever equivalent they had at Beauxbatons.

The representatives of Durmstrang Institute arrived six o'clock sharp, in a ghostly, blood-red ship that emerged from under the lake very much like a submarine. The haughty-looking students were led by Igor Karkaroff, a tall wizard with a goatee and white hair. The entire group wore thick, dark cloaks, an indication of the conditions of the European magical school, although Karkaroff was dressed in sleek-silver fur in contrast to the students' common grey furs. Unlike the group from Beauxbatons, which had roughly the same number of male and female students, the Durmstrang delegation was dominated by boys (whether it was reflective of the school's demographic or not Harry had no idea). They were eyeing the Hogwarts and Beauxbatons students cautiously, uncertain of what to do with the mass of strangers around them, until two of the students marshalled the rest into formation next to the local students. Harry was as stunned as everyone else the moment they recognized one of the two: He was supposed to be young, but Harry didn't know he was still in school.

"_Krum_!" Ron gasped. "Harry—it's Viktor Krum!"

A/N-1: Events in this chapter take place between September 13th and October 30th, 1994.

A/N-2: The two Quidditch teams' rosters:

Hogwarts First

Chasers: Angelina Johnson (G) [Captain], Alicia Spinnet (G), Michael Corner (R)

Beaters: Lucian Bole (S), Stebbins (H)

Keeper: Miles Bletchley (S)

Seeker: Draco Malfoy (S)

Reserves: Ron Weasley (G), Zach Smith (H), Astoria Greengrass (S)

Hogwarts Second

Chasers: Roger Davies (R) [Captain], Adrian Pucey (S), C. Warrington (S)

Beaters: Fred Weasley (G), George Weasley (G)

Keeper: Herbert Fleet (H)

Seeker: Cho Chang (R)

Reserves: Daphne Greegrass (S), Bradley (R), Leanne Moon (H)

* The letters G, R, H, S indicate the player's House.

* Herbert Fleet is a character in one of the HP video games. He is of no consequence. I use names from HP games and movies if I really need a name for inconsequential background characters, like Fay Dunbar and her (nameless and will continue to remain so) friend in Ch-13. Leanne Moon is supposed to be Katie Bell's friend Leanne from Hufflepuff (see HBP).


	16. Champion

Disclaimer: I do not own Fleur Delacour.

Chapter-16: (The unexpected) Champion

"Stop gawking at him, both of you!" Hermione hissed. When neither boy responded she produced her wand and began sending Stinging Hexes at her two best friends. Neville, who was far less enthralled with Quidditch than Ron and Harry, escaped her wrath. "Honestly, Harry! You of all people should know better than that, you hate it when people do it to you!"

Ron, stung, yelped and began massaging his wrist. Harry on the other hand pulled out his wand and responded with a grin.

"I hate it when people worship that blasted scar on my forehead, Hermione, or when things happened that I couldn't help or control." Harry retorted even as he fired off a Stinging Hex, a Leg-locker and batted away Hermione's Tickling Jinx. Neville fixed Harry with an awed look, but snapped out of it and sidestepped the deflected spell just in time. It hit Dennis Creevey, Colin Creevey's younger brother, causing the tiny first year to giggle uncontrollably. "Oops."

"Stop it, the two of you." Ron cast the counter-spell on Dennis before his laughter attracted a professor or prefect's attention. After two months' worth of practical lessons with Moody, Defence students had become a lot better at casting, blocking and dodging spells. The redhead rolled his eyes when neither of his best friends halted; in fact Hermione upped the ante by throwing in minor curses. "You are making _me_ the responsible one now?"

Harry and Hermione stopped immediately. Neville chuckled as Ron shook his head in exasperation. Seeing that the foreigners and most of the school had returned to the castle, they quickly followed.

"Reckon Krum would give me an autograph if I ask nicely?" Ron wondered aloud.

"It's worth a try." Harry said before noticing a faint smirk on Hermione's lips. "What is it?"

The witch put on an innocent look. "Nothing."

Harry had half a mind to start hexing again. Unfortunately they were already in the Great Hall and getting seated for the feast. The Beauxbatons students had chosen to sit at the Ravenclaw table while their Durmstrang counterpart settled down with the Slytherins. Ron grunted as Malfoy scurried over to speak with Krum, a smug look on the blond boy's face, but Harry's attention was drawn to a certain Ravenclaw, who was trying to squeeze into a spot between two large girls. He was just about to walk over when another person noticed her plight.

"Luna!" Cedric called and gestured at the space next to his. The blond third-year hesitated for only a moment before walking over; Harry thought he detected a spring in her steps. Few others in the Hall noticed the byplay but Hermione did.

"That's very nice of Cedric." She nodded approvingly.

"His parents took care of Luna after her mother passed away." Harry told her in a low tone. "He's like a big brother to her."

Hermione took another, longer look at the two. "Cedric, perhaps, but I'm not sure about her." She said slowly.

Harry had made note of it before, but didn't feel it his place to gossip on the feelings of the girl he had come to think of as a friend, and simply shrugged. A side door opened and out emerged the three Heads, followed by the entire Hogwarts faculty. The students of the two foreign schools all leaped to their feet immediately. The Durmstrang pupils were straight-backed and soldier-like, while the Beauxbatons students' stance was graceful, yet no less respectful. They remained standing until their respective Heads were seated on either side of Dumbledore. There were two empty chairs at the staff table, however.

"Who else's coming, I wonder?" Ron mused. "The impartial judge or judges perhaps?"

"You're probably right," Hermione agreed after a moment's thought. "I still don't know how he'd evaluate the worthiness of a Champion, though. Academic prowess? Magical strength? Is there going to be a tryout?"

Their conversation was cut short when Dumbledore stood up and raised a hand, and the Great Hall was as quiet as if a Silencing Charm was cast. The Headmaster of Hogwarts gave a short speech and finished with, "The Triwizard Tournament will officially begin at the end of the feast. I now invite you to eat, drink, and make yourself at home!"

With that food blinked into existence at every table, and students tugged in happily. There were several unfamiliar dishes that Ron prodded suspiciously, until Hermione explained those as French and German cuisine. Harry, for his part, scooped up a plateful of Bouillabaisse enthusiastically; he had rarely had foreign food before and wished to rectify that mistake immediately. He ploughed through the stew and then the beef bourguignon, and even sampled a bit of the escargot. Hermione and Neville watched bemusedly as he finished his meal with a very generous helping of Rote Grütze.

"It's delicious," he said after washing down the last of the dessert with a glass of fruit punch. Hermione suppressed a giggle.

"It's just strange to watch you eat with such gusto while Ron was so hesitant with his food." She explained. Ron rolled his eyes.

Sighing happily, Harry sat back and looked around the Great Hall. Hagrid was sharing a joke with Moody, who was taking a swig from his hip-flask; by now everyone at Hogwarts knew that the paranoid ex-Auror prepared his own drinks, which were rumoured to be some sort of all-purpose anti-poison potion. Viktor Krum was in a deep conversation with a blond-haired Durmstrang student, ignoring an annoyed-looking Malfoy entirely. At the Hufflepuff table Cedric handed Luna a glass of fruit punch, who took it happily; Susan and Hannah giggled at a joke Ernie Macmillan told. A number of Ravenclaws—mostly boys—were crowded around the Beauxbatons students. Padma was picking at her food, not finding it to her liking. A few seats away from her, Cho Chang was looking at him. Blinking in surprise, Harry recovered quickly and raised his own glass at her, as if offering a toast; the Chinese girl lifted her goblet with a wink.

Harry felt a pang of guilt as he put down his drink. He needed to get a grasp of his feelings, he told himself. Susan was a wonderful friend but he wasn't sure if they could take things further. And Cho… how should he proceed anyway? He wished there was someone he could speak to, to help him sort out his feelings. The twins were out of the question; Dean told him once that Fred and George ran a pool betting on Harry's love life, from first date to first girlfriend (or, if he batted for the other team, _boyfriend_) to first kiss to what-have-you. The twins also seemed to keep an eye out for any Harry-Ginny interaction; that one time Ginny asked him for help with her Ancient Runes homework, Harry thought he would catch fire from the way Fred's glare burnt into him. He was not going to give the twins any sensitive information if he could help it. Perhaps he could ask Cedric for advice? He seemed to know Cho quite well too. But then, Harry had to admit that while the older boy was quite friendly he wasn't comfortable talking to him on something this intimate.

Then it hit him: Remus and Sirius. His dogfather would probably laugh himself stupid, of course, but he was far, far away and Harry felt that he would survive. Sirius did need a good laugh, especially as he was injured recently (despite Sirius' letter assuring him that he's feeling much better); and Remus did know both girls, having taught them last year. Perhaps he should write them a note later tonight? Or better yet, tomorrow night—he was certain the Marauders would be interested about the Tournament and the Champions.

A nudge from Ron jerked him from his thoughts. Hermione pointed towards the staff table.

"Look who's just arrived." She said briskly. Harry recognized both wizards instantly: Ludo Bagman and Mr. Crouch. Bagman sat next to Madam Maxime and helped himself to the food, while Crouch engaged Dumbledore in conversation. Karkaroff, who was seated between them, looked extremely uncomfortable in the presence of the Ministry official.

"They organized the Triwizard Tournament, didn't they?" He said slowly as he recalled what department the two men headed in the Ministry. Hermione nodded.

"Given the seats, though, you'd have expected them to show up earlier." Her brows furrowed. "Odd..."

The ambient noise level in the Great Hall began to raise again, a sign that most of the students were done eating. Dumbledore waited for another five minutes before rising from his seat; Mr. Bagman stared at his plate mournfully but pushed it aside as the Hogwarts Headmaster smiled benevolently at his audience.

"The moment has come," Dumbledore said, "but before the official opening of the Triwizard Tournament, allow me to introduce our esteemed guests from near and afar, and the impartial selector of Champions, the Goblet of Fire."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Dumbledore introduced the two officials and the Goblet. One would simply enter his (or her) name and school on a piece of parchment and put it in the Goblet's fire; the three individuals deemed most worthy would be chosen to represent their respective schools. He went on to describe the Tournament's format, tasks, and the prize. As the Heads of the two Ministry departments responsible for organizing the event, Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman would serve alongside the three schools' Heads as judges on the panel that would evaluate the Champions' performance. There would be four Tasks, one for each element: Earth, Water, Air and Fire.

"Aspiring Champions will have twenty-four hours to put forward their names; their names will be revealed tomorrow night, after the Hallowe'en Feast." His eyes flickered briefly towards Mr. Bagman before going on. "Despite my misgivings we will not impose an age limit on the Champions. I must stress most strongly, however, that these tasks are challenging even for adult witches and wizards, and those students beneath fifth year simply don't have the strength, skill, or knowledge required to overcome them. If you enter your name and are selected, there can be no turning back, no change of heart; you must participate due to a binding magical contract imposed by the Goblet. The consequence to breaking said contract will not be pleasant."

The Headmaster of Hogwarts also spoke of the Inter-School Quidditch Tournament, which he had high hopes for: if successful, it might spread to become an annual event including every Wizarding school in Europe. Six matches would be played between November and May. Unfortunately, with the excitement over the Triwizard Tournament the students' reaction was lukewarm at best, even among those on the teams. The news announced, Dumbledore declared the feast over and moved the Goblet of Fire to the Entrance Hall.

"I have to admit, using an enchanted object is a good idea. No one can accuse it to be biased for or against something." Hermione noted as she crossed out and rewrote a passage on a piece of parchment. The impartial selector of Champions turned out to be an ancient wooden cup that looked completely unremarkable save for the dancing blue-white flames it held.

When Harry asked Neville about magical contracts, Ron launched into a speech, explaining to his Muggle-raised friends that magical contracts were, indeed, serious business and that breaking one could result in bad luck, dark and painful curses, loss of magic, death, or a hefty fine. Neville helpfully supplied a few stories he heard from his grandmother as well.

The redhead finished with, "...and you can't simply dispel the penalty because the contract is imbued with your own magic." He rubbed his eyes in an exaggerated fashion as his bushy-haired friend wrote down what he just said. "Wow—Hermione taking notes from what I said. Pinch me, would you, mate?"

Hermione pouted as Harry gleefully complied. Neville, suppressing a chuckle, turned to Harry and handed him a small piece of parchment. It had Hogwarts' name on it.

"What's this for?" He asked, bemused.

"As I recall, we voted and passed the motion to make you enter the Tournament," The plump Gryffindor answered with a grin. Harry was slowly discovering that the quiet boy had a twisted sense of humour—no doubt brought out by his new friendship with Ron. "I've also got one each for Hermione and Ron as well."

"What about you?" Hermione challenged.

"I'm not insanely suicidal like the three of you." Neville countered easily. "Ron had recounted some of your misadventures to me."

Two hands slapped the back of Ron's head, hard, at the same time.

"It's not gonna hurt, just entering, you know?" Ron said as he stood up and dragged Harry to his feet. Exchanging a small smile, Hermione and Neville quickly followed. The Entrance Hall was already thick with people, mostly sixth- and seventh-years; Colin Creevey was one notable exception, standing near the enchanted cup and taking pictures of various students next to the Goblet. As the four Gryffindors approached Cedric Diggory and several members of the Duelling Club put their names in, cheered on by their friends and housemates. Harry looked about the hall; he half expected to find Luna nearby.

"Sparkling pretty boy Diggory," someone muttered near the group of Gryffindors. "No way will some Hufflepuff ponce be chosen, I mean, it's _Hufflepuff_ for Merlin's sake!"

It was really sad, Harry reflected, that he recognized the voice of the speaker instantly because that person had antagonized his friends and him so often over the years. While the git had kept his distance so far this year, Harry wasn't going to let him badmouth another one of his friends around him. "Shut up, Malfoy."

If Draco Malfoy was surprised to find his school enemy so close by without him noticing, he recovered quickly. "Scarhead? But of course... you're a member of Diggory's fan club as well, aren't you?" He said with a sneer. Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle loomed menacingly while Pansy Parkinson shrieked in laughter.

"Droll, Malfoy, very droll," Harry drawled in what he hoped was a decent imitation of the blond Slytherin. Judging from his friends' snickers, they approved. "I don't see _you_ entering, for some reason, Ferret Boy."

It was rumoured that a few weeks ago Moody caught Malfoy bullying some first-year students and turned him into a ferret as punishment. Ron expressed his bitter regret that Harry wasn't present to witness it; it would've made an excellent memory for the Patronus Charm. Malfoy flushed but rallied. "And of course you're entering, Potter, because you are such a fine example of Gryffindor."

A number of students were watching the exchange between the fourth-years now, no doubt because it involved one of the most well-known feuds in the school. Harry, feeling slightly reckless, decided to go for broke. "Hey Cedric!"

Cedric, who was conversing with another student, looked up. The surprised look gave way to a friendly grin as he saw who it was. "Harry!" He beamed at the Gryffindor. "I haven't had the chance yet, but I really want to thank you."

Harry grinned. He hadn't forgotten Cedric's birthday nor his promise (to himself) to purchase a gift for the older boy. Through Luna he was able to obtain the boy's size and planned accordingly. He ordered, via owl post, a set of leather duelling robes from Madam Malkin's; Luna bought a matching pair of boots, and Cho chipped in a pair of gauntlets. He tapped his glasses lightly.

"Just returning the favour. I'm sure you'll make good use of the robes." He waved the piece of parchment Neville handed him earlier. "I hope you don't mind."

"You are actually entering?" Cedric paled as the crowd began to mutter. The rest of his Duelling Club cohorts looked apprehensive as well.

"Moral obligation, I'm afraid," He jabbed his thumb at his friends. "My so-called friends want me to get my annual death threats organized; hence, here I am."

Cedric let out a bark-like laugh. "Whatever you say," the sixth-year Hufflepuff said as he stepped out of the way.

Harry, Ron and Hermione shared a look before throwing the three pieces of parchment into the Goblet of Fire together. As the names entered the fire, it turned briefly red and emitted sparks; Harry thought he caught a glimpse of glowing runes at the inside face of the enchanted object. A bright white flash told him that Colin had crept over and taken a picture of them; knowing it was inevitable, Harry simply sighed. He would have to persuade Hermione to talk to Colin later, to keep that picture out of the _Headliner_. Paying no heed to the jeering led by Malfoy, the three rejoined Neville. They were about to depart for Gryffindor Tower when students in blood-red robes marched into the Hall, headed by Viktor Krum and the other student leader, and blocked off their exit. Harry stopped to let the guests through first.

"Thank you," Krum said, his English not as heavily accented as Harry expected. The Bulgarian was about to walk on when the boy immediately behind him tapped his shoulders and whispered something. Almost at once the Durmstrang group turned to look at Harry.

"You're Harry Potter," The boy burst out even as the others murmured.

"Manners, Poliakoff." The other student leader said warningly. He had wild-looking blond hair, amber eyes, and what little skin exposed seemed to be tanned almost to red; Harry wondered if he spent a lot of time outdoors. His English, unlike Krum's, was much better; Harry could barely detect a trace of accent. "Sorry about the idiots, Mr. Potter."

"Of course." Harry nodded. On impulse he thrust out his hand. "Harry Potter."

The blond boy looked at the offered hand with a bemused expression before taking it.

"Rolf Scamander. Nice to meet you."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville watched the Durmstrang delegation put their names in the Goblet of Fire (to the polite applause of Hogwarts students) before departing for Gryffindor Tower.

"They aren't wasting any time, are they?" Ron said as he stole one last look at the Durmstrang students, who were returning to their ship; apparently they were not sleeping in the castle. Harry wondered if the Beauxbatons group were staying in their oversized flying carriage as well. Neville and Hermione were discussing their new acquaintance in low voices.

"He's probably the grandson or great-grandson of Newt Scamander," Hermione was saying. "The author of _Fantastic Beasts and where to find them_."

"The Scamanders are an old family with affinity to magical creatures," Neville informed her. "They moved to Germany about twenty years ago."

He shot Harry a significant look, who understood after the briefest of thought: the Scamanders must have fled Britain during Voldemort's reign of terror. That would explain Rolf's fluent English, Harry mused.

"He seemed nice," Hermione noted. "I wonder if he'd be willing to grant an interview to the _Headliner_."

Ron groaned. "You are spending way too much time on that thing."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but wisely refrained from retorting and addressed the Fat Lady instead. "_Pegasus_."

Harry let out a yawn as he climbed through the portrait hole. Only a few second-years were in the common room; it seemed that most of the House were still out. Waving his friends goodnight he returned to his dormitory. He had borrowed the latest Flourish and Blott's catalogue from Madam Pince, but it'd have to wait; the last thought he had before drifting into sleep was of long, black hair dancing in the wind.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry was rather surprised the next morning, when he found both Ron and Neville up and dressed. While Quidditch training had intensified with the release of the Quidditch match schedule, he was certain that neither captain called for practices in the morning; he would've known otherwise, what with his unofficial role on both teams.

"What's going on?" He said as he picked up his glasses. "It's barely bloody eight in the morning!"

"What do you think? We're going to the library, of course." Ron answered with a straight face. He cracked at Harry's stunned expression. "Just pulling your wand, we're going down for breakfast and to heckle people. Care to come along?"

Ultimately he decided against it. "You two go on; I'll join you in half an hour. I have to check on an Aging Potion I'm brewing for Madam Pomfrey first, though." Appropriately applied Aging Potion added potency to certain potions. It was also an important ingredient in the Withering Salve.

"Hermionitis is still strong with this one, I'm afraid." Neville sighed as he addressed Ron. "Let's go before we wake Dean or Seamus too."

After a quick clean up Harry headed off for the Hospital Wing. The morning shift hadn't arrived yet, but as a trainee himself he had the password to access the Potions lab. He would be the first to admit that he didn't have the intuitive grasp for potions, but he felt he was doing better through the sheer amount of brewing he had done since summer. If he continued to improve he just might scrap an EE, or even an O, next year with his O.W.L.s.

By the time he went down to breakfast it was nearly nine. Apparently Ron and Neville weren't the only ones up early today, despite it being a Saturday; many people, including were milling about the Entrance Hall, waiting and watching for people to drop off their names in the Goblet of Fire. If Harry didn't know better he'd think that Colin had camped beside the Goblet all night; the boy looked as if he hadn't slept at all.

"Is Colin the only photographer for the _Headliner_?" Harry asked the moment he saw Hermione at the Gryffindor table. She was working on yet another article. "And are you the only journalist? The two of you are all I've ever seen around the school doing _Headliner_ work."

"This isn't mine, I'm just editing it," she said impatiently.

Harry draped an arm around her shoulder. "I know you don't need it, but if you ever want help, let me know. We don't want to see Hermione 'On-the-verge-of-a-nervous-breakdown' Granger again, do we?"

"No we don't." Hermione sighed as she leaned in against him. "Thanks Harry."

Beaming, Harry grabbed a stack of toast and got up. "I might as well see to your other _Headliner_ colleague then."

It turned out that Harry's hunch was right, that Colin hadn't had breakfast yet. Needless to say, the elder Creevey brother accepted the toast gratefully.

"Anyone put in their names today?" He asked Dennis as Colin tore into the food.

"Warrington, along with half of the upper-class Slytherins," the first year answered as Ron and Neville came over. "A few Ravenclaws entered as well, including all their prefects."

Ron plucked a piece of toast from Colin just as the front doors opened. The Beauxbatons students, organized in two lines, entered the hall and headed straight for the Goblet. And then suddenly, Harry realized that one girl among them was the most beautiful being he had ever seen.

She had a long sheet of silvery blonde hair that fell almost to her waist, large, deep blue eyes that reminded him of the ocean, very white, even teeth, and a very nice figure despite her school uniform. Her beauty was unearthly—

"ARGH!" Harry could feel a headache coming on as he forcibly tore his gaze from the girl; it was as if he just fought off Dumbledore's Legilimency probing. Around him, a few of the boys jerked from his half-scream, but most of them (and some of the girls as well) still had their eyes glued onto the girl. What little doubt he had disappeared the moment his headache subsided; he knew he had experience something like this before. "Stop this instant, _Veela_!" He snarled.

"Manners, _little boy_," the girl's grin turned into a scowl at the sound of the word. Her voice remained melodic and her tone alluring, but Harry focused on the anger he felt when he realized what the girl had done, and his head remained clear even when as he looked at her. Her face was still angelically beautiful but there was a glint of anger in her blue eyes, cold as ice. "Who would 'ave zought ze best of 'Ogwarts zo be so… _'elpless_."

The other Beauxbatons students around her were smirking as well. Their smirks disappeared when Harry drew his wand and pointed it straight at the girl.

"You dare talk of manners when you attacked my schoolmates unprovoked?" He demanded through clenched teeth.

Harry felt the strain on his mind vanish. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see people shaking out of their trance. Ron's face was so purple that for a second Harry feared he had choked on his piece of toast.

"Attack? _Moi_?You exaggerate, boy," The girl said as her schoolmates made their way to the Goblet. Parchments bearing their names were quickly swallowed by the blue-white fire, including the girl's own. "It was but a zest. Do not blame me for your deficiencies."

Harry simply sent her a furious glare as the entire Beauxbatons group left the way they entered. The girl raised a disdainful eyebrow at him as she departed, as if daring him to try anything; the rest of the French students meanwhile sent him looks varying from apprehension, to belligerence, to calculation.

"Stop milling about and get to breakfast, you lot." It was Professor Moody, wand in one hand and hip-flask in another. Somehow, even with a wooden peg for a leg, he was the first staff member to arrive at the scene, with Mr. Bagman following closely behind. For a moment Harry wondered just what the Ministry official was doing at the castle so early in the morning. He probably stayed at Hogwarts for the night; the selection of the champions was tonight after all. "Move!"

At the ex-Auror's roar students scurried off, some to the stairs and others into the Great Hall; Colin Creevey, for one, suddenly fancied some cocoa and dragged his brother along with him. The fourth-year Gryffindors turned to leave but Bagman stopped them—or most specifically, Harry.

"I see that you fought off her magical allure fairly quickly." The jolly-looking man said. "I'm impressed."

"I have some experience with Veela charm before." Harry winced as he remembered the scene of a hundred dancing Veela. But that girl must be part-human at least; otherwise she couldn't be a student at magical school. Do they have other part-human students at Beauxbatons as well? The Ministry official must have been thinking along the same lines, for he said,

"She is part-Veela—although half- or quarter-blood I cannot tell—but the proximity more than made up for the weakened power of her allure." Bagman said, his face darkening for a second as a hint of disapproval in his voice. "Frankly, I thought they'd have taught you about Veelas in your Care or Defence class by now. Then again…you were studying a different breed of Dark creatures in Defence last year, weren't you?"

"That's enough Bagman." Moody said warningly. He detected the dangerous flash in Harry's eyes so quickly it must be his magical eye at work. Turning to the Gryffindors and acting the part of a concerned Professor perfectly (even if his real, beady eye betrayed the slightest hint of dark amusement) he said, "Move along now boys."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry was muttering profanities under his breath when the three met up with Hermione, who squinted at the sight of Harry's expression. "Is something wrong?"

"Bagman insulted Professor Lupin," To everyone's surprise it was Neville who answered her. "You know…his illness."

Ron laughed humourlessly. "We were just bad. _I _was just as bad. Even after knowing Professor Lupin for an entire year, I threw everything to the winds the moment I heard the word 'werewolf'."

"Oh thanks for reminding me Ron," Hermione said sourly. "I was the little girl who cried 'werewolf', after all."

Harry bit back a nasty remark. Some days he just felt unusually angry, or frustrated, and it took all of his meagre Occlumency skills to rein in his emotions instead of lashing out at his friends. He sighed and checked his watch. "Just leave it. Why don't we go down to Hagrid's?"

"You know we'll be treated to another round of the amazing stories of Blast-Ended Skrewts, right?" Ron said exasperatedly.

"We really should get started on our assignments," Hermione said, but got up just the same. In truth, due to their individual commitments Saturday morning was practically the only time they could visit Hagrid together.

The three friends exchanged a glance, then as one turned back to the table.

"Care to join us, Mr. Longbottom?"

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Just as Ron predicted, Hagrid couldn't talk of much else other than the Skrewts, which had now grown to a length of three feet and began killing each other. After a month of speculation Hermione finally plucked up the courage and confronted Hagrid, who admitted that the strange lobster-like creatures were the result of cross-breeding between manticores and Fire-crabs. He insisted that he didn't violate any laws, however, because while the British Ministry was restrictive with experimenting on creatures he didn't do it on British soil—it was all done in Greece during his summer visit. He also explained the chest-plate and the arm-guards he sent to Harry for his birthday gift. They weren't Quidditch equipment, but actual duelling-grade armour fashioned from Fire-Crab shells.

"Yer always gettin' in ter trouble, Harry. They'll not say it but lemme tell yeh everyone's worried. Dumbledore, McGonagall, everyone—so I figured I'd get yeh somethin' useful, see?" Hagrid said over his cup (or bucket) of tea.

"I don't look for trouble as much as trouble come looking for me." Harry protested weakly. Hagrid chuckled.

"Wha'ever yeh say, jus' be careful, you hear? And that goes for the rest of yeh too." Ron, Hermione and Neville nodded. Harry turned to look at the clock. It's nearly twelve; Hagrid invited them to have lunch with him but after Ron noticed a talon in the 'beef casserole' Hagrid was preparing the Gryffindors decided against it, returning to the castle instead.

Harry and the others separated after lunch, but they met back at Gryffindor Tower at seven and went down to the Hallowe'en Feast together. The Goblet of Fire had been moved from the Entrance Hall to just before Dumbledore's seat in front of the staff table. Bagman and Crouch were once again seated among the Hogwarts staff and foreign Heads. A large number of students had arrived early and were jostling for the best seats, namely those closest to the enchanted object. Fred and George approached them the moment they sat down.

"You told us you won't enter the Tournament, Harry," Fred said, a tad reproachfully.

"Now you've upset all the odds." George said glaring at him.

"Odds?" Harry asked, not liking what they were implying.

"Unlike the rest of the school we do know what you've done before," George explained.

"And the extent of your ridiculously rotten luck," Fred followed.

"Then you shouldn't be taking or placing bets," Hermione chided the older boys. "Come to think of it, you shouldn't be gambling in the first place!"

The twins rolled their eyes in unison. "Yes, mum. Of course, mum."

The rest of the Feast passed as they discussed the chances of various students. The Head Boy and Girl of the year, Warrington of Slytherin and Cedric Diggory were among the top runners for Hogwarts Champion. Personally Harry rooted for Cedric; he knew how hard his friend had been working for the last two months, but he couldn't say it out loud in front of the twins. Like the night before, the students all ate hurriedly, hoping perhaps that should they finished quickly Dumbledore would announce the Goblet's decision early. Nonetheless, it was still nearly nine when the food vanished and the Headmaster of Hogwarts got to his feet, his counterparts from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons flanking him. The Great Hall fell into silence almost immediately.

"I hope you all enjoyed your meal," Dumbledore began. In Harry's opinion, though, while the food was great the feast last night was better, on account of its more varied menu. Then again, it could be that it was the second feast in two nights; the extravagantly prepared food just didn't have its usual allure for him. He snapped his attention back to the Headmaster, who was gesturing at a door behind the staff table. "—where the champions will receive their first instructions."

The excited murmurs ceased as Dumbledore flourished his wand. All the candles floating freely in the Great Hall extinguished, leaving the Goblet of Fire as the brightest source of light. All eyes were drawn to the enchanted cup as its blue-white fire turned red. A tongue of fire expelled a slightly charred piece of parchment, which landed in the outreaching hand of Dumbledore.

"The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour!" Dumbledore declared.

Harry huffed. He had grown a dislike for the Veela-like girl since the morning, but perhaps the Goblet saw some worthy quality in her? Fortunately students, local and foreign alike, applauded as Fleur Delacour from the French school got to her feet, and the noise level drowned his unhappy grunt easily. Shaking back her beautiful silver-blond hair, the girl posed for a picture for Colin, then walked down the staff table and disappeared into the next room. Everyone waited eagerly for the next announcement.

The fire flashed red again. "The champion for Durmstrang is Rolf Scamander!"

It was a moment before the students recovered and began applauding. Even the Durmstrang students—and Karkaroff himself—looked shocked. Eyes flickered between the German-born student and his far more famous Bulgarian schoolmate; evidently they were all convinced that Krum would be selected. Krum on the other hand was not bothered at all; in fact he was the first to congratulate the blond boy, shaking his hand and whispered a few words before pushing Scamander towards the staff table. Scamander paused uncertainly as he, too, had his picture taken by Colin before joining Delacour in the waiting room.

Only one school remained. For the third time crimson flames delivered a name. "The champion for Hogwarts is Cedric Diggory!"

There were grunts and moans of disappointment from the other three Houses' tables, but they were drowned out by the thundering roar and cheering and applause coming (mostly) from the Badger House. Harry could see Cedric's popularity in this one instant: for he was receiving support from even among his Slytherin and Ravenclaw peers. Cho and Luna were among those clapping happily at Ravenclaw table. Harry cheered heartily as well; he felt slightly guilty at the dual dour look of the twins, but Cedric was his friend too.

Dumbledore was congratulating the champions and urging everyone to support their school's representative when suddenly the flames flared again—one time too many. The Great Hall went silent as everyone was stunned by the unexpected development.

As a slip of parchment flew into Dumbledore's hand, Harry had a horrible premonition. _Oh no, please Merlin, no—_

"Harry Potter."

Harry slammed his head against the table.

"Oh bugger."

A/N: Events in this chapter take place between October 30th and 31st, 1994.


	17. Confounded!

Disclaimer: I do not own Rolf Scamander.

Chapter-17: Confounded!

Harry's first thought was that he just might have Seer's blood in him after all.

The second was that it really wasn't a good idea to bash his head against anything. It _hurt_.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor! What have you done this time, Potter?" Snape's bellow brought him back to reality. McGonagall sent the greasy-haired professor an extremely dirty look before walking over to speak to Dumbledore. As if it were their cue students from all four tables began talking or more accurately shouting at each other at this latest twist in the Tournament.

Harry looked at his friends, who were all staring back at him. Ron had a disbelieving look on his face. Hermione's eyes were filled with concern. Neville had gone so pale he looked like a ghost. Further down the table, Lee Jordan and the twins were glaring at him, their expressions unreadable in this lighting and at this distance. Did they think he somehow cheated his way in?

"Harry Potter!" The call from the Headmaster shook him from his thoughts. "Harry! Up here, if you please!"

Gritting his teeth, Harry rose from his seat; it was taking all his self-control to walk instead of run up to the staff table.

The initial shock and horror he felt had given way to anger. He wanted to scream. He wanted to swear so badly that McGonagall would take a thousand points from Gryffindor and gave him a year's worth of detention. He wanted to whip out his wand and start hexing. And yet… he tightened his grip on his temper. He needed to know what happened. He needed to know who was responsible and thus to be thoroughly hexed. Taking a deep breath, he took control of his emotions as best as he could, and entered the room.

Recalling one of the conversations he had with the Hogwarts house-elves during the summer, Harry knew that the chamber used to be a guest dinner room back in the 1950s. The fireplace had been lit and the three champions were standing around it; they all turned at the sound of the door opening, and were surprised to various degrees at the sight of Harry. Scamander and Delacour sent him questioning looks but Cedric noticed the stormy expression on his face.

"Harry… what happened? Is something wrong?" He asked immediately.

Harry was warmed by the concern in the older boy's voice, and dreaded telling him the truth—that Cedric's moment of glory had just been ruined by his unwilling involvement in the Triwizard Tournament. In the end, though, he decided that it would be best if he broke the news to the real Hogwarts champion now.

"I don't know what the hell happened, but the Goblet named me the fourth champion." He said through clenched teeth. He cut off Scamander's question and Delacour's scathing remark before either foreign student could say a word. "Yes, I did enter my name. No, I did not know how this happened. I want an explanation as much as you do. I am hoping for an escape clause somewhere that can get me out of this."

"You don't want to be in the Tournament?" Scamander asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Maybe a little, when the Tournament was first announced," Harry admitted, "but I never really trained for it, and I most certainly don't want to compete under these circumstances!"

Delacour snorted. "Zen you should've known bezer zan to enter your name."

Harry had to fight from nodding in agreement, least of all because it was Delacour talking. He would have words with his friends afterwards; objectively he knew he couldn't (and he wouldn't) hold them responsible, that it was equally his own fault for going with it, but they should never, _never_ tempt fate like that in the first place.

Well, it was too late for that now.

The door opened and in walked the three schools' Heads, the two Ministry officials, and Professors McGonagall and Snape. While it wasn't open for long Harry caught a glimpse of the situation outside. Professor Flitwick, the rest of the professors and the prefects were patrolling the tables and trying to keep the situation under control. Harry frowned and turned his attention towards the incoming delegation. He needed to focus.

"Extraordinary—simply extraordinary!" Bagman declared loudly as he entered the room. "May I present—the fourth champion for the Triwizard Tournament!"

Harry simply gave the man a withering look.

"This is indeed a most unexpected development." Dumbledore said, sending a calculating look at Harry.

"I don't recall there being a rule for the host school to have two champions, Dumbledore," Karkaroff said, his voice barely above a whisper yet somehow sounding more threatening than outright shouting. "Or have I not read the rules carefully enough?"

"You 'ave, Igor, and zere isn't," Madame Maxime had come to stand next to Delacour, her large hand on the girl's shoulder. "'Ogwarts cannot 'ave two champions. It is most unjust!"

"We demand an explanation and an apology. The guilty party must be punished most severely!"Karkaroff said as he, too, placed himself next to the champion of his school. "Or we will file a complaint to the ICW I promise you."

"Oh, rest assured, Igor, Potter will most definitely be punished for his actions." It was Snape who spoke up, his eyes glittering with dark glee. "It is about time he learns that rule-breakers are not tolerated at Hogwarts, and that not even his celebrity status will protect him from punishment."

McGonagall turned on her colleague with barely controlled fury. "Need I remind you, _Severus_, that Mr. Potter is innocent until proven otherwise?"

"This is no groundless accusation, _Minerva_. Potter is a liar and a cheat and this time we have proof." Snape fired back as he drew his wand. "I recommend that we examine the Goblet of Fire immediately. I'm certain we can find evidence of tampering if we act quickly."

"Enough!" Dumbledore roared, momentarily silencing his two instructors. Harry thought likewise: he, too, had had enough.

"Professor McGonagall?" He said in a polite but firm voice, calling not only the witch's but everyone else's attention to him. "Are you here as the deputy Headmistress or as my Head of House?"

The Transfigurations teacher was clearly surprised by the question, but recovered quickly. "I'm here as Head of Gryffindor House, Mr. Potter. We need to get to the bottom of this. We have a problem on our hands that if not resolved quickly, can turn into an international incident. Now—"

"Pardon me, Professor, and I am terribly sorry for interrupting you," Harry added quickly at the look of McGonagall's narrowing eyes, "but if that's the case, shouldn't Cedric get the same treatment? Namely, shouldn't Professor Sprout be in here, to represent his best interests? And most importantly, what in Merlin's name is_ Snape _doing here?"

All eyes turned as he pointed to the Potions Master, who suddenly found himself under intense scrutiny. Dumbledore came to his rescue, however. "_Professor_ Snape, Harry. He has my complete trust in all matters."

Harry raised a sceptical eyebrow at the ancient wizard. "Even so, Sir, _Snape_ is not the Head of Hufflepuff House. It is not his responsibility to be here. _Snape_ should be out in the Great Hall instead." He couldn't resist adding, in as innocent a tone as he could, "It is terribly unfair for _Snape_, Sir."

He could have sworn he saw a twitch at the corner of McGonagall's mouth, but his attention was on the much-loathed Potions master, who was now pale with fury. Dumbledore, seeing this, intervened swiftly.

"Harry is right in one aspect at least. Can you ask Pomona to come in, Severus?" The Hogwarts Headmaster said. He was studying the note from the Goblet that delivered Harry's name. "And Filius as well, I would like his opinion on this."

"And don't bother returning, _Snape_," Harry added with a cheery wave, daring the Slytherin Head of House to try anything.

Snape was looking positively murderous now, but restrained himself no doubt because of the presence of the outsiders, as well as Dumbledore's commanding glare; the Headmaster's eyes, for once, were not twinkling as Snape swept out of the room.

"And I must ask, Mr. Potter, that you show some respect for a professor of Hogwarts." Dumbledore said, in the sternest tone he had ever used with Harry. Harry, for his part, could barely contained a snort. He folded his arms and looked resolutely away from his Headmaster.

Harry narrowed his eyes when Snape returned a moment later, followed by Professors Flitwick and Sprout. The Hufflepuff Head of House immediately walked to Cedric's side and asked for an update from her charge, while Dumbledore beckoned Crouch and Flitwick to his side. The three wizards conversed in low and urgent tones as the minuscule professor cast several diagnostic charms on the slip of parchment.

Seeing Harry frowning at the sight of the Slytherin professor, McGonagall stepped in quickly. "Now that Mr. Diggory's representative is here we should begin. Did you enter your name into the Tournament, Mr. Potter?"

"As I was telling the real champions before you came in, yes I did, Professor," Harry answered, looking everywhere but at his Headmaster. He might not have anything to hide from Dumbledore, but just the same, he did not appreciate the passive Legilimency Dumbledore might think to use for his investigation.

Sprout was next to speak up, her normally good-natured face frozen into a dark scowl. "Even after the Headmaster specifically warned against such an endeavour for students below fifth year?"

"In my defence, it was only a warning, not an official rule of the Tournament. Besides, I never expect to beat out three year's worth of students for the nomination. And I didn't; Cedric was named the champion of Hogwarts." Harry answered swiftly. Something clicked in his mind as he turned abruptly on Dumbledore. "May I see that piece of parchment, Professor?"

Dumbledore nodded but did not hand it over. Harry, frowning slightly, walked over to get a closer look at the note.

"_Harry Potter, Charmbridge Academy,_" He read aloud. "Huh."

"Charmbridge is one of the premier schools of magic in the Americas," Flitwick said helpfully.

The problem was that Harry had heard of it; it was one of many things Madam Pomfrey and he talked about during summer over tea. It would have make things easier if he hadn't.

"How could the Goblet accept someone from a _fourth_ school?" Sprout demanded.

"Confundus Charm." Crouch said succinctly. "It must be a fairly strong one, too, if it fooled a powerful magical object like the Goblet so easily."

Harry cursed under his breath. While he hadn't learned to cast it he did know of it, having read on the confusion-causing charm during summer.

McGonagall stood on Dumbledore's side to get a look at the note. "This _is_ your handwriting, Mr. Potter."

"I recognized it too. Mr. Potter's handwriting was rather... shall we say, distinctive." Flitwick added.

Harry knew 'atrocious'was probably the better description, but it was neither here nor there; what's important was that he had just found something significant. He squinted at the note, hard, before he finally began.

"Sir," he said slowly, addressing Dumbledore, "while I'm pretty certain the signature is mine, this is not the parchment I entered my name with."

"Ah, but of course 'e is lying!" Madame Maxime cried, pointing an accusatory finger at Harry.

"Neville can confirm this." Harry said, almost triumphantly. He just might get out of this yet. The Gryffindor turned to address his Head of House. "Neville provided the piece of parchment Ron, Hermione and I used to enter the Tournament. He can tell you that _he _wrote Hogwarts' name on all three pieces before handing the parchments over. It must have somehow been charmed to show a different school's name, or something."

"That just might be the case," Flitwick said as he intoned another revealing charm in a low voice. Charmbridge's name began shifting as the spell came into effect; but instead of reverting to _Hogwarts_ as Harry expected, the words simply changed to a noticeably different style of writing. Harry was bewildered while the Charms master furrowed his brows. "This is not the note Mr. Potter mentioned; this is an altogether different one."

"How is that possible?" Harry inquired, a sense of foreboding rising inside him. How, indeed, did his signature appear on another slip of parchment?

Delacour let out a derisive laugh at this. "_S'il te plait_, Potter, drop ze act already."

"Why would he do this, though, if he could enter his name legitimately in the first place?" Scamander spoke up, a voice of reason in the sea of confusion. "I mean, if anyone got named the fourth champion it'll cause all kinds of trouble for the person. Everyone will accuse him, or her, of cheating. No one in their right mind would do that."

"_Right mind_ being the operative word, Mr. Scamander," Snape said with a sneer. "Potter has never been known for his intelligence or common sense."

It was McGonagall who responded to the comment—she practically exploded on him.

"SEVERUS SNAPE!" The old lioness roared, drawing to her full height. "I HAVE HAD IT WITH YOUR INSULTS AND INSINUATIONS AGAINST MR. POTTER! YOU HAVE DONE NOTHING BUT HINDER THIS INVESTIGATION WITH YOUR PETTY REMARKS! YOU HAVE NO PLACE IN THIS ROOM! OUT! GET OUT BEFORE I RESORT TO WANDS!"

For a moment even the foreigners looked stunned. Harry had to suppress his urge to cheer. Dumbledore recovered the quickest, but couldn't beat his Transfigurations Professor. "AND DON'T _MINERVA_ ME, ALBUS!"

He wisely shut his mouth.

"Amusing as it is, this sideshow must stop at once." Karkaroff intervened before they were sidetracked again. "It has no relevance here. What is relevant is Potter; what are we going to do with Potter?"

Crouch spoke up for the first time. "The magical contract is activated by the signature and Mr. Potter just confirmed its authenticity. I'm afraid that he has no choice but to participate." The Head of DIMC said in a low, droning tone.

Harry seethed at the statement but refused to give up. "Would it be possible to rearrange the Tasks now? I don't mean to make you go easy on me, or something," he said, thinking quickly, "but how about we fulfill the contract with simple Tasks, the judges give us all perfect scores—or zeroes—and call it a draw? Once the binding magical contract is fulfilled you can switch back to the original Tasks for the three champions?"

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Potter," Bagman shook his head. "You see, the Tasks were part of the magical contract, and we cannot change the conditions because the contract is entered into the Goblet the same way names were—it was consumed by the flames. We have no way of editing the contract, or the Tasks like you suggested. There is no way out; you must participate."

"Zen we will 'ave a second champion as well; if 'Ogwarts gets two bites at ze apple so will we!" Madame Maxime declared.

Karkaroff nodded in agreement. "I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students to the Goblet, until we have another champion for Beauxbatons and Durmstrang."

"Now, now, Karkaroff, it doesn't work like that and you know it." Bagman said, his hands up in a pacifying gesture. "The Goblet of Fire just went out and won't re-ignite until the next Tournament."

"We will get to the bottom of this, and we will continue combing through the contract to find a loophole, or figure out something to everyone's satisfaction," Dumbledore said, a hint of tiredness and impatience seeping into his voice, "but it is getting late. I suggest that we give our current champions their instructions and let them retire; we can tackle the rest of our… issues… in my office. In the meantime, I must ask that you remain silent on the subject, Harry. Should anyone ask, tell them that it is all under investigation and you cannot speak of it."

Harry nodded numbly. Dumbledore turned to the two Ministry officials. "The guidelines, if you please."

Bagman and Crouch exchanged a glance before the latter stepped forward to address the champions.

"The theme to the first test is Fire. It will take place on the twenty-eighth of November. It is designed to test your resolve and courage, and in this case, to confront the unknown. You will be armed with your wand and nothing else; you will neither ask for nor accept help from any professor. You will receive information on the Second Task when the First is completed." He paused. "I think that is all, is it, Albus? Ludo?"

"How can you miss the most important thing, Barty?" Bagman looked scandalized as he took over. "The first ever Inter-School Quidditch Cup match will take place on November the twenty-second, between Beauxbatons and All-Hogwarts First team."

"If that is all, I suggest that we continue our discussion in my office, Madame Maxime, Professor Karkaroff." Dumbledore said to the two foreigners. "May I ask you to escort our guests back to their lodgings, Severus, Filius? And please take your charges to their dormitories, Minerva, Pomona."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

They returned to a Great Hall that had long since been vacated of students. The group of eight walked in silence, as Snape and McGonagall continued to stare daggers at each other, Sprout was unusually solemn and Flitwick lost in his own thoughts. The four champions weren't much better; while Scamander seemed to believe Harry's pleas, Delacour had an imperious look that twisted her fair features into something much less appealing. But Harry was only concerned with the Hogwarts champion's reaction at the moment. It pained him to see Cedric pointedly avoiding looking in Harry's direction.

_Don't you believe me, Cedric? _Harry wanted to grab the older boy and shout into his face. _I thought we are friends, aren't we? _

Only when the salty taste entered his mouth did he realize that he had bitten his lip so hard it began bleeding. He fixed it quickly with a muttered _Episkey_, but the pain, though faint, remained.

_Fine,_ Harry's frustration turned into anger. _Be that way. I don't care._

Cedric and Sprout split off as they arrived at the main staircase, leaving for the door that led to the basement where the kitchen and Hufflepuff dormitory were located. Flitwick was about to lead Delacour away when the girl turned around to face Harry.

"I don't care if you entered yourself or not, little boy. Eizer way I _will _crush you and ze ozers. I'm in zis to win." Fleur Delacour said with a sneer that would make Snape proud.

Rolf Scamander whistled lowly as the French witch stalked off with a frowning Flitwick. "That girl has issues. Oh well. I'm sure they will have this all sorted out by tomorrow morning." The Durmstrang student gave him a sympathetic smile, before he was marched to the front door by a stone-faced Snape.

"Let's go, Mr. Potter." McGonagall's voice broke him from his moment of melancholy. Professor and student climbed the stairs silently until they reached the seventh floor. They stopped well short of the portrait hole, however, and McGonagall cast a few privacy charms around them. She turned to Harry once she was done.

"Mr. Potter... Harry." McGonagall said, in a voice far softer and more emotional than Harry had ever heard she use. "I believe that while you did enter your name you did not make yourself the fourth champion"—she gave him a look that said _and if you did then so help me I will curse you into next month_—"like this. I sincerely hope that the Headmaster can find a way to get you out of this, but if he can't, then I must ask you to do something very difficult, something quite contrary to our House's reputation. I want you to forfeit the Tournament."

Harry blinked at her; he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What?"

"Not officially, of course," McGonagall explained, "what I meant is that you give the bare minimum of effort to whatever task they come up with. Try a spell or two, and once you do that you declare that you're not fit or skilled enough to continue."

That was a good idea, actually, Harry thought as his Head of House continued.

"Gryffindor value bravery and courage but we do not charge into battles heedlessly. Being a Gryffindor does not equate recklessness. We fight, but never needlessly." McGonagall fixed him with a stern look, her eyes burning with a conviction Harry had never seen on her. "There is obviously a conspiracy afoot, and you are in the thick of it again—perhaps in more danger than ever. I do not wish to see you take risks unnecessarily."

Harry lowered his head and searched inside of himself. The truth was, while he knew of the danger involved, while his well-honed survival instincts as well as his logical self screamed at him not to do anything absurdly stupid, there was still a part of him that was thrilled at the opportunity and wanted to compete against the best and brightest of three magical schools in the Tournament. (A very small part of him, ruthlessly squashed but there just the same, might want to show up Cedric, too.) As the Sorting Hat once said, he had a thirst to prove himself.

"By Merlin," McGonagall said, her eyes widened with alarm, "Surely you can't be considering…"

"I don't want to compete under these circumstances, Professor, but I'll be lying if I say that I'm not thrilled about it too." Harry said truthfully. He sighed. "Can we talk about this tomorrow? I need to sleep on it, give it some thought."

There was a moment when Harry thought McGonagall might shout at him. Her nostrils flared but when she spoke again her voice was controlled.

"I know that, given the events of the past you might be reluctant to trust adults. But this is far too dangerous, Harry." The Head of Gryffindor House sighed. "I know I, too, contributed to that. After seeing the Headmaster brought you to the Hospital Wing, after you were forced to confront a man possessed by You-Know-Who because I refused to even hear you out—I have no right to ask you of this. Yet I must, because I cannot live with myself otherwise. Leave this to the Aurors, Harry. They are fully-trained professionals, tasked to track down and fight Dark Wizards. They don't need you to do their job for them."

"Yes Professor. I'll think about it." Harry said. He couldn't find the words to express his mixed feelings at the moment, so he changed the subject. "I want to thank you, Professor, for standing up for me in there."

"It is something I should have done a long time ago." McGonagall shook her head, a faint, sad smile on her face. "I can only hope that I am not too late."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

McGonagall bid him goodnight and left him in front of the Fat Lady. Taking a deep breath, he climbed through the portrait hole. Half of him expected to be hit with a wall of sound upon entering, to see his housemates celebrating his entry in the Triwizard Tournament no matter how vehement his denial was. Another half of him expected to be confronted with accusations, that he cheated his way into competing and that he brought shame to noble house of Gryffindor. He expected having to tell them that he couldn't say anything because Dumbledore was investigating the circumstances behind the night's events. He expected even to have to protest his innocence to a jealous Ron, an agitated Neville and a patronizing Hermione. What he didn't expect to find was a nearly-deserted common room—and his dormitory cramped with more people than he thought possible.

"This is not a surprise party, now, is it?" He asked suspiciously. "Because I'll have to ask you all to get out, right now, if it were."

No sooner had he said that a bushy-haired witch grabbed him in a tight hug. "We're so worried, Harry! And we are so sorry!"

"Can't—breathe—Hermione—" Harry said as he fought off Hermione. It must be the years of carrying her books and school bag everywhere, Harry decided; the girl's upper body strength was ridiculous for her size.

"Charming, isn't he?" Lee Jordan laughed out loud.

"Our sweet prince," Fred and George cooed. Ginny faked retching next to her brothers.

"Not another word, you lot." Angelina commanded while Alicia sent imperious glares at everyone else. She nodded at Ron and Neville, who exchanged a glance and stood up.

"We're sorry, Harry," they said together. Ron continued. "We should've known better than to taunt your rotten luck like that."

Harry looked at Ron in frank undisguised amazement. While a conspiracy that promised more bodily harm for him was not at all welcome, the day had also seen McGonagall finally standing up for him and putting Snape in his place, people who didn't jump to conclusions and assumed the worst of him, as well as a Ron who was being mature about—well, just being mature in general. He floored the question immediately.

"Since when are you so bloody mature, Ronald Weasley?" He cried, drawing a chastising glare from Hermione and laughter from everyone else in the room. "Who are you and what have you done with my best mate?"

"Bloody git," Ron chuckled but refrained from rolling his eyes. Looking straight at Harry he answered, in an empathic tone, "Since my best mate reckoned he'd found his life goal, and began working toward it. My other best friend was already a scarily serious witch (he mock-saluted Hermione) and I found that I must grow up, too, or lose them both. And I can't let that happen, because they're too important to me."

There was a strange lump in Harry's throat; he swallowed hard. He thought he heard Hermione sniffed.

"All we want to say is that we believe you. It's obvious to us especially with the way you reacted when Dumbledore called your name." Katie Bell said from her corner of the room. She looked slightly squashed, squeezed between Nigel Wespurt and the Creevey brothers on one side and Fay Dunbar and her friend on the other. "We know you wouldn't worm your way into the Tournament in some sneaky, underhanded fashion like a Slytherin."

"Hear, hear," Dean and Seamus cheered.

"We know you can be crazy and boneheaded at times, but not stupid like this," Neville said with a shy grin. Pavarti and Lavender rolled their eyes and muttered together: "Boys."

"We want you to know that we support you. If Dumbledore can't fix this, if you are forced to compete in the Triwizard then all of us will help you." Hermione said, finally finding her voice. "We'll help you train. We'll help you with homework (not do them for you, mind, just tutor you so hard you can pass your OWLs by the end of _this _year). We'll get everyone in Gryffindor in line. We'll beat off the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who should've known better. We'll hex any Slytherins who try anything against you. And when we find out who got you into this? He'll wish the Aurors get to him first!"

The speech was greeted by laughter, cheers and applause, and Harry found that he couldn't help grinning, ear-to-ear, at the people in front of him, who had just pledged to help him and stand beside him, to support him. And there was only one thing he could say.

"Thank you," he said softly, more to himself than to his audience, _his friends_: "Thank you all."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

After the late-night meeting of the "Harry Potter Support Group" (as they called themselves) Harry asked Hermione, Ron and Neville to stay behind. He quickly explained what happened after his name came out of the Goblet of Fire, including Dumbledore's speculations and the other champions' reactions. He let them know in no uncertain terms that it wasn't their fault he got involved with the Tournament; the three were much relieved, and turned their attention to finding out who the culprit might be.

"I say we look into Moody immediately," Hermione said with a determined look. "I can investigate under the cover of the _Headliner_."

"Why him?" Neville was puzzled.

"The Defence professors always attack Harry at some point in their tenure," Ron explained. "_Always. _And Moody had a head start already—I bet he's gauging how good Harry is, every time we have a practical lesson."

Harry frowned, remembering something Mr. Weasley once said. "Isn't Moody a famous dark-wizard-catcher, though? It doesn't make sense that someone so opposed to Voldemort would try to kill me. And as much as I hate his practical lessons we are learning loads from him."

"Even Lupin tried to kill you _and I'm sure he didn't mean to_," Hermione added hastily at Harry's dark look, "Moody may have an ulterior motive that we don't know of yet. Or maybe he just went around the bend after the last war."

"Regardless, just be careful around him." Ron said forcefully. "I'll write dad again, see if he knows anything strange about Moody."

"And try to find out whatever he can about the others." Neville said, his face crunched up in concentration, "I think Gran mentioned Karkaroff's name before—or was it Kakarot?—when she talked about the last war, but I'm not sure."

"We'll look into it," Hermione said quickly. "And in the meantime, Harry, you should be prepared. Even if you get out of competing you need to train up, in case harm and trouble come your way again."

"I think I know exactly who to talk to," Harry said, summoning a scroll of parchment and a quill. His grin had more than a hint of mischief in it. "And I'm sure Dumbledore will appreciate the help."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry woke up the next day with a smile on his face and hope in his heart. He was still upset at Cedric's reaction, true, and still anxious for the truth to come out, but the initial panic and anger he felt had dissipated after a good night's sleep. Deciding that Ron and the others deserved to sleep late on a Sunday morning, he washed and dressed quickly and quietly before going down into the common room. All he needed now, though he didn't dare get his hopes up, was for Dumbledore to find some way to get him out of the Goblet's magical contract. He was mildly surprised—although in reflection he really shouldn't—when he found Hermione up and about already. The witch put away the _Headliner _article she was working on when Harry headed over.

"Professor McGonagall came by earlier," she told him immediately. "She said that Professor Dumbledore found a loophole in the magical contract. Because of the way it is set up, it is not considered sealed until the First Task. So long as you don't participate in the Task of Fire, the contract won't activate to bind you."

"Yes!" Harry said, happy and relieved at the turn of events. He pulled Hermione into a hug. "Thanks for the good news, Hermione."

She smiled, and reached in, and lightly and tasting like strawberry, kissed him on the lips.

"You're welcome Harry," She said softly, before pulling herself out of his arms and walked out the portrait hole.

He stared after her as if Confounded. It was quite a while before his brain restarted and he was able to ask himself the million-galleon question.

"What the hell just happened?"

A/N: Events in this chapter take place between October 31st and November 1st, 1994.


	18. Conversations

Disclaimer: I do not own Rubeus Hagrid.

A/N-0: Terribly sorry for the delay. The first half of this chapter was finished months ago, but the second half was much more difficult, having been rewritten for over a dozen times using different characters and scenarios. I blame this entirely on Hermione Granger; she has to be repressed.

Chapter-18: Conversations

"What the hell just happened?"

_Hermione kissed me._

Harry touched his lips gingerly. He could still taste the faint strawberry flavour on his lips.

_Hermione kissed me!_

Not that it was unpleasant, not at all; quite the opposite, as a matter of fact.

_HERMIONE KISSED ME!_

Harry looked about the common room guiltily, even though he did nothing wrong. Thankfully Hermione and he had been the only ones up so early on a Sunday morning; even the inhabitants of the two portraits hanging in the common room were still asleep. The last thing he wanted was for this to reach the rumour mills and the entire school to gossip on his non-existent love life.

_I like Cho but Hermione fancies me and I have a date with Susan in three weeks and—_

"Oh bloody Merlin." Harry groaned, fighting the urge to bash his head against the wall again.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry grabbed his bag and fled Gryffindor tower before anyone else came down from the dormitories. He needed to clear his head and think about this, preferably somewhere isolated. He could use some breakfast, too, but he suspected that Hermione was down at the Great Hall and Harry didn't want to face her, not until he sorted his feelings out. Fortunately there was a location perfect for his purpose, and Harry had a good reason to go there anyway—or rather, a pair of them, sitting in his pocket. He found himself in the Owlery not ten minutes later; his faithful feathered familiar flew over and greeted him with a soft bark before settling on his shoulder. Hedwig nibbled his ear expectantly, and Harry couldn't help but smile.

"It's good to see you too, girl." He said soothingly before fishing two letters from his bag. Instead of giving both letters to her Harry tied his first missive to a school owl. The snowy owl barked questioningly until he explained. "That's a regular letter so I delegated. I only trust the best owl in Hogwarts for my most important letters, you know."

The owl was instantly mollified. Perhaps he could get some experience practicing girl talk with his familiar, Harry mused. He pushed the idea to the back of his mind however, and casting a few cleaning spells he cleaned a bit of the floor to sit down. After a moment's hesitation he unsealed his second letter and pulled out the parchment within.

This letter was intended for Remus and Sirius (although it was addressed to Remus only, seeing as Sirius was still an escaped mass murderer and Dark wizard in the eye of the world). After his talk with his friends last night Harry added a page's worth of content detailing the Tournament and his unwanted involvement as a champion, and he knew he should let them know about the latest—that Dumbledore got him out—but something else seemed more important right now, namely Hermione. Harry contemplated how to put his feelings into words.

_P.P.S. I've got another problem. A girl I've been friends with for ages fancies me, but I don't think I like her that way. How can I tell her without hurting her feelings or losing her as a friend?_

_P.P.P.S. I'm not sure I follow you. So you _are _suggesting Madam Puddifoot's instead of the Three Broomsticks, right?_

_P.P.P.P.S. I'd really appreciate your advice, and soon. I wish we can fire-chat some time, though. _

_-Harry_

Harry threw his quill back in his bag. It was far from perfect but it would have to do. Hedwig, who had been waiting patiently on his shoulder for the last fifteen minutes, accepted the letter happily before taking off with a soft bark.

He had wondered about Hermione before, during the summer and perhaps a bit before that; he was quite aware that she was, in fact, a girl and could be at least pretty if she put more effort to it. He liked her and respected her. She was nice to him and cared for him. He could even say that they loved each other—as friends. But what if they took it to the next level? Could their friendship survive if they pursue a relationship and it didn't work out? He didn't know and didn't really want to think about that.

Unfortunately, while Harry was certain his father's friends could give him sound advice—after laughing themselves stupid, of course—said advice couldn't arrive fast enough. Harry didn't expect Hedwig to return until tonight at the earliest. What was he going to do with Hermione in the mean time? Was there anyone else he could possibly talk to about this?

He left the Owlery still deep in thought. There was Hagrid, true, but Harry doubted his first friend from the Wizarding World could help in this regard. Come to think of it, Harry suspected Hagrid could use some advice himself, seeing how he kept glancing in Madame Maxime's direction last night during the feast.

Ron and Neville would be no help. The twins were worst than useless—they were running that cursed betting pool weren't they? (Whoever bet that Harry's first kiss went to Hermione had just won some galleons, he thought dully.) Bill, Charlie and Percy were all out of the country right now, and he didn't feel close enough to the three elder Weasley brothers anyway. The name of one other boy, one older boy came to mind, but Harry wasn't sure about it now. He scowled.

Cedric Diggory. Cedric _bloody_ Diggory.

A day ago Harry just might solicit advice from Cedric, and he was sure that the Hufflepuff would be quite happy to help, too: they might not have known each other for too long but Harry felt he could trust the older boy, and vice versa. He was wrong. He had begun to re-evaluate his friendship with Cedric after what happened last night.

Harry looked out through the nearest window. While it was still relatively early he could see that the weather was perfect for Quidditch—sunny, slight clouds, mild wind. Perhaps he should return to the tower and grab his Firebolt? It would most certainly take his mind off his situation with Hermione. Then again it wasn't wise to fly on an empty stomach. He calculated the chances of Hermione still in the Great Hall having breakfast. It was an encounter he wasn't ready for. He could go to the kitchens for the meal instead; the House-elves would only be too happy to have him there. On the other hand, that would bring him dangerously close to Badger territory, and he doubted students of Hufflepuff House would react well should they find him so close to their dormitory.

He was still weighing his options when he found himself on the second floor, not far away from a rather ugly gargoyle. A new idea popped into his mind and he wandered over to the statue. Yes they had a difference of opinion last night, but he did help Harry out of a tight spot; he should thank him, it was only the polite thing to do. "Everlasting Gobstopper."

The gargoyle gave him a look but leaped aside silently. Harry ascended the stairs but hesitated at the door; he could hear voices from inside, speaking in tones too low to catch through the door. Chiding himself for eavesdropping on the Headmaster, Harry knocked on the door.

"Come in." Dumbledore gave a small nod. "Ah, Harry."

"Good morning sir. Good morning Professor McGonagall, Professor Moody." Harry said, greeting each of the occupants of the room. He felt slightly relieved that he had got back from 'Mr. Potter' to 'Harry'. "I want to thank you, sir."

"I take it Miss Granger delivered my message." McGonagall said.

"She did, yeah," Harry nodded, trying hard not to think of the other thing that occurred and failing miserably. More than ever he felt the necessity of mastering Occlumency as soon as possible.

"Think nothing of it, my boy," Dumbledore said jovially.

"I'm wondering if you can tell me more about what happened last night, sir," Harry asked. "Someone tried to get me involved. Who? How? And why?"

"The boy can't take care of himself if he's kept in the dark, Dumbledore," Moody spoke up.

"Mr. Potter has shown that he can be trusted with sensitive information." McGonagall added. "Given his… temperament, I believe it best to give him a general idea of things and guide him accordingly, instead of letting him jump to conclusions based on incomplete, or even erroneous, information."

Harry didn't know whether to feel amused or insulted at her assessment of him, so he just shrugged. Dumbledore looked at the other two professors and nodded, albeit reluctantly.

"You both raised very good points, Minerva, Alastor," he allowed. "That said, the investigation is proceeding slowly, and we are still putting the pieces together. Thus far we have nothing other than a few ideas."

"Your shrewd ideas often turn out to be right, though, sir." Harry said, remembering something Remus once told him. A smile flickered across Dumbledore's lips but disappeared so quickly Harry wasn't sure if he imagined it.

"I appreciate the vote of confidence, Harry. Professor Moody has agreed to heading up the investigation; I am certain we can resolve this very soon." He said.

"I may be retired, but I am an Auror still." Moody said, a hint of pride in his voice.

"Madame Maxime and Headmaster Karkaroff had been notified as soon as we made the breakthrough, although we had asked them not to share the news with anyone just yet. Mr. Crouch has taken the Goblet to the Ministry for examination. We have not yet heard back from him, but Professor Flitwick and I believe our initial assessment was correct: a powerful Confundus charm was likely used to deceive the Goblet into accepting candidates—or candidate, in this case—from a fourth school." Dumbledore continued.

"Fortunately, the contract itself was unaltered, and upon careful examination we found a loophole in the wording. To put it succinctly it is this: the contract specified about the students of the _three_ magical schools. Even though your name came out of the Goblet, as the champion of the _fourth _school you are not bound to compete. As I explained to Ms. Granger, as long as you do not participate in the first task, the contract will not activate and bind you." McGonagall finished.

Harry had to smile at that. "That's a relief."

Moody grunted disapprovingly. "It might be a clumsy attempt on your life, Potter, but is an attempt just the same."

"It can just be a prank gone wrong, can't it?" Harry suggested almost hopefully.

Dumbledore sighed. "I am afraid not; the Confundus cast on the Goblet was a powerful piece of magic. It is beyond the level of your schoolmates or their contemporaries."

"Its failure may lead to a more desperate and dangerous attempt—in fact I am certain of it." Moody said warningly. "Whoever it is won't stop after one try, and he or she just has to get lucky once. You have to be on your guard at all times. You need training, Potter."

Harry frowned, his conversation with Moody at the start of the term coming to mind. While he agreed that circumstances had changed, he was already very busy with schoolwork and he was still wary of the Defence professor.

Dumbledore stared at the grounds outside the window for a moment before answering. "While Harry has no intention of participating in the Tournament, he is still a champion at this point. It may be best if we delay this conversation until after the First Task is over."

Harry nodded reluctantly but he did understand Dumbledore's concern. Something else came to his mind. "What about our… Tuesday night sessions, sir?"

"Those, too, will have to be suspended. I expect you to continue practising on your own however, and I expect to see some progress by the next session." Dumbledore said. McGonagall and Moody exchanged a look. Harry chided himself for talking too much and letting loose a piece of information; the professors apparently did not know of his Occlumency lessons with the Headmaster.

"May I also propose that you speak to the school tonight, Albus?" McGonagall suggested, taking up another issue instead of inquiring further. "The sooner everyone knows of Mr. Potter's innocence and decision, the better. It will hurt the school, and both Mr. Diggory and Mr. Potter, if the student body divides itself over which champion to support. Hogwarts must stand united behind its true champion."

Moody shot McGonagall a look. "You meant well, I'm sure, but I don't think it's a good idea. In fact I think it best if you keep this under wraps as long as you can, Dumbledore—that way I'll have more time to find the perpetrator of this plot. It'll also prevent whoever it is from getting at Potter again, if he thinks his ploy worked."

As much as it pained Harry to acknowledge it, he had to admit that Moody's suggestion had merit. The ruse would lure the perpetrator into a false sense of security and would make it easier for Moody to catch him. On the other hand, if he went along with the plan he could not clear his name until after the First Task. He could only guess how badly it would damage his relationship with his schoolmates, particularly his acquaintances in Helga Hufflepuff's House. Then again, he had to get his priorities straight. He looked to the Headmaster for guidance, but Dumbledore shook his head.

"The decision is yours, Harry," he said simply.

Harry turned to his Head of House. The old lioness glared at Moody before voicing her opinion. "Remember what I said last night, Mr. Potter. No one will think less of you either way."

"Those are your battles, Potter, whether you like them or not." Moody argued. "People may get hurt, even _die_, if you run away from them. You know what the right thing to do is."

It was this, more than anything else, that clinched Harry's decision for him. He steeled his resolve and looked up.

"Professors," he began slowly, "Here's what _I_ think."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

In the end Harry decided to follow McGonagall's advice, and asked the Headmaster to make an announcement tonight during dinner. After all, there was more than Harry's name at stake—the issue could be a huge disruptive influence, both internally between the four Hogwarts Houses, and externally in terms of Hogwarts' relations with the other two premiere magical schools of Europe. The announcement could also quell the negative sentiment Harry, Dumbledore, and Hogwarts would otherwise face; they had enough things on their plates without having to deal with public opinions as well.

Harry was heartened how accepting Dumbledore had been of his decision, and how the older wizard incorporated several of Harry's suggestions into his plans. McGonagall, likewise, had been supportive; she seemed determined to make up for her lack of efforts in the past. Moody however was considerably harder to convince. He wasn't happy with Harry agreeing to McGonagall's suggestion in the first place, and most displeased that Harry suggested getting outside help for the investigation, namely, Madam Bones and the DMLE. While Harry believed that Madam Bones could allocate the resource and look into it discreetly, Moody was sceptical and wary of what the Director of DMLE might demand in return. Harry suspected though that the reason was more personal; Moody was hailed as one of the best Dark wizard catchers ever, and the idea that he needed help was no doubt hard to swallow.

In the end Moody relented, on the condition that he chose the Auror for this job, a demand Dumbledore readily agreed to, although judging from the cold look in his dark eye Harry expected to have a talk with the ex-Auror sometime in the near future.

Even the potential political fallout had been touched upon. The fact that they were able to resolve Harry's participation so swiftly allowed Dumbledore to contain most of the damage. The cover, though flimsy, was that the Goblet of Fire had malfunctioned after so many centuries of disuse. A solution was quickly found and the student in question (who _just happened _to be Harry Potter) would not be participating at all. Dumbledore would pull a few strings with the Minister, who in turn would get the _Daily Prophet_ in line, and they would release a heavily edited version of events. Praises for both the Ministry and the Minister himself would be sung, for their swift and decisive actions, etc, etc.

While Dumbledore wrote a missive for Fawkes to deliver to the Ministry and Moody looked up Madam Bones' Floo address (it was a Sunday, after all, and she wouldn't be in her office), McGonagall took a look at her pocket watch and jumped to her feet.

"Excuse me Albus, Alastor, but this impromptu meeting had gone on for long enough—for Mr. Potter at least." She said, pulling Harry to his feet as well. Harry stole a glance at his watch and could barely contain his surprise; it had been nearly two hours since he came to Dumbledore's office. "He should go now before breakfast hour is over."

Harry only realized he was famished now that she mentioned it; with one last, respectful nod to the Headmaster and the Defence professor he followed Professor McGonagall down the staircase. The stone gargoyle leaped aside and the two of them exited into the corridor.

"A word, Mr. Potter, before you go." Professor McGonagall said, sending looks at both sides of the hallway for eavesdroppers. When she's satisfied there were none she turned to Harry. "I'm glad that you have come to your senses about competing in the Tournament."

Harry grimaced, recalling their conversation outside the Gryffindor common room the night before. He wanted to say that his emotions got the best of him, that he was shocked and angry and upset because of the ordeal. But it wasn't true and McGonagall deserved the truth.

"To be perfectly honest, Professor, I would love to compete. Even now, when I know how difficult and dangerous the Tasks may be, not to mention whoever entered my name in the first place; a part of me still wants to compete." He locked eyes with his Head of House. "But I know better than to do something so monumentally stupid. I don't know why someone wants me in the Tournament, but the least I can do is to stay as far the hell away from it as I can."

"Language, Mr. Potter," McGonagall chided half-heartedly. Her normally stern expression softened very slightly. "But I agree with your sentiment. I believe you have a watch–A wristwatch? Even better. May I see it?"

Harry handed her the object in question. The Transfigurations professor examined the Muggle-made watch for a few seconds before taking a small, metallic object out of her pocket. Harry was amused to see that it was a tiny silver button in the shape of a fish, and looked up at his Head of House questioningly.

"Are you familiar with tracking charms, Mr. Potter?" She asked as she drew her wand.

Harry blinked. Madam Pomfrey had mentioned one or two tracking charms in passing over the summer, when they were talking about the origin and evolution of monitoring charms used in the hospital wing, but that was it. "Not really," he admitted.

"Good. I'd be worried otherwise; no fourth-year should ever…" There was a faraway look in McGonagall's eyes, and when her lips twitched toward a smile Harry wondered who or what she was reminiscing about. She snapped out of it very quickly, however, and returned to the task at hand. "Most tracking charms are limited in range, duration, or usage while the dozen or so high-level trackers are classified and strictly regulated by the ICW and the magical law enforcement agencies around the world. I know of one of these tracking charms, however, and with your permission I would like to put it on you.

"I have also laced this button with a lesser-known and more subtle tracking spell. Professor Flitwick had been kind enough to assist, adding a few spells of his own. The enchantments will be masked by the more powerful spell I put on your person." With a twirl of her wand the button transformed into a fish-shaped buckle. A muttered Switching Spell replaced the old wristwatch buckle with the new, fish-shaped one. As an afterthought she cast another charm. "Keep this watch on you at all times. Yes, even in the showers; I just added a waterproofing charm to it. Should you go beyond a certain distance from the castle, an alarm will be triggered and I will be alerted to your approximate location."

Harry took back the watch and put it back on. It felt slightly different, but he wasn't sure it was the new buckle or the spells his wristwatch now carried. "Thank you, professor." He said sincerely.

"Don't mention it." McGonagall glanced up and down the corridor again before continuing in a whisper. "And I mean literally. Tell no one, not even the Headmaster or Professor Moody; the less people know of this the better."

"I understand." He did, regarding Moody anyway, but Harry was mystified that she wanted to keep the Headmaster in the dark as well. Nevertheless he decided to file that away for now.

"My door is always open for my students, Gryffindors or otherwise. Come and speak to me if you need anything—or just want to have tea and talk." A faint smile flashed across McGonagall's face. "Now I think you really should go and have some food before breakfast is over. Have a good day, Mr. Potter."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry stood at the threshold of the Great Hall and looked inside apprehensively. Hermione was nowhere to be seen, and Harry suspected her to be either in the library or at the _Headliner_'s office. On the other hand, there were a fairly large number of Badgers at the Hufflepuff table, exchanging glares with their Gryffindor counterparts; Harry sighed knowing what, or more precisely _who_, the problem was. Adding to that the number of sneering Slytherins milling around, and the Great Hall looked more volatile than Neville's botched potion. Deciding thatdiscretion is the better part of valour,Harry made his way out of the castle, electing to forego breakfast for some much needed peace and quiet.

As he strolled down the path to Hagrid's hut Harry wished once more that he had brought his broom along. The weather was windier than Harry predicted, true, but it was still close to optimal Quidditch condition. Far in the distance he could see half a dozen figures on brooms flying in laps, possibly doing warm-up exercises. Harry wondered whether it was the Beauxbatons team preparing for the upcoming match, or one of the Hogwarts school teams getting an early practice. As housemate and training partner respectively he was on pretty good terms with Angelina and Davies, the two school teams' captains, and Harry was always welcome to fly with them during Quidditch practice. Alternatively, with the way things were at the moment, perhaps he should lay low for a while, lest the Hufflepuff team members decided to stand up for their champion. Besides, hungry as he was, it might be best if he didn't go flying—it wouldn't do to fall off his broom due to low blood sugar, after all.

A yelp of surprise shook him out of his thoughts. Harry looked up to find his first and biggest Wizarding friend emerged from the back of his cabin, a large barrel under each arm and Fang the boarhound trailing his steps. "Hagrid!"

Hagrid practically threw the barrels on the ground as he raced over. "Harry?" He looked Harry up and down. "Where've yeh been? Ron an' his leetle sister came by earlier—your friends have been looking for yer all day. Said you woke up early then jus' disappeared, not showing at breakfast an' all."

"Yes, well I—" Harry began but was rudely interrupted by a loud rumble in his stomach. He made a face as Hagrid laughed out loud.

"Why don' we talk over lunch? I still got the beef casserole from yesterday in the icebox."

Harry recalled his best friend's discovery of a decidedly non-bovine body part in the so-called beef casserole, but he was famished and even the leftover seemed very enticing at the moment. Besides, he was certain Hagrid wouldn't poison him… at least not on purpose. And if push comes to shove, well, he did have a bezoar in his bag.

"Sounds like a smashing idea."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Between bites Harry told Hagrid some of what he'd been up to in the morning. Feeling rather weary of the Tournament, Harry changed the subject and asked about Hagrid's day, which the large man obliged by recounting his morning, during which he tended to a mother Thestral (whatever that was) which had been feeling under the weather ever since giving birth to a stillborn foal. He prepared some sort of restorative potion and was going to administer it when he checked on her in the afternoon, but something else came up; apparently Hagrid wasn't told of Beauxbatons' herd of winged horses, and Hogwarts simply didn't have enough of the single-malt whisky the creatures drank. Hagrid ordered ten barrels of the alcohol and had to pick them up from his supplier in Hogsmeade, a fellow named Old Goat Abe, in the afternoon.

Harry eyed the cauldron of cooling potions. On the one hand he knew that, given Hagrid's love of dangerous animals—Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback, Fluffy the Three-Headed Dog, Aragog the Acromantula, and the Blast-Ended Skrewts came to mind—he probably should stay a good distance away from these Thestrals. On the other hand, Hagrid was his friend.

"Here, let me help." Harry said, suppressing a sigh. "Just tell me what I need to do."

"You'll do that fer me, Harry? That'd be great!" Hagrid beamed at him. "Jus' take the carcass to the second clearing in the Forest, the herd's nearby and will come for yeh. Tiffany's the one with the beautiful long mane an' tail, you can't miss her..."

Fifteen minutes later Harry found himself deep in the Forbidden Forest, levitating half a cow toward a herd of carnivorous animals. He cast a scent-masking charm on the carcass before leaving Hagrid's hut; it was dangerous enough traversing half the Forest without dangling a bloody piece of meat around. He was justifiably surprised, however, when upon arrival he found someone else at the clearing. He didn't expect to meet anyone here, and what was more, someone he knew. "Luna? What are you doing here?"

The blonde turned to fix her pale eyes at him, then at the carcass he was transporting.

"Err, never mind. So," Harry said, feeling slightly uncomfortable under her gaze. He put the carcass on the ground and lifted the scent-masking charm. "I'm trying to find these Thestrals, Hagrid said that they're attracted by the smell of meat so..."

"I know." She said simply, her voice soft and her gaze unwavering. "They're here."

Harry was filled with a sense of foreboding, as if that something—or things—was nearby and watching him. He sent glances into the forest around him, but found nothing. His lowered wand came back up. "You shouldn't be out here, all alone in the Forest, you know."

"Don't be afraid, Harry. They're very gentle, really." She paused as Harry continued to look around. "Can't you see them?"

"See _what_?" Harry turned toward her again, both bewildered and exasperated at this point.

Instead of answering Luna simply pointed to the carcass deposited on the forest floor. Harry gasped in surprise as pieces of meat seemingly tore themselves from the bones and disappeared into thin air, accompanied by strange churning sounds.

"What's going—what's eating—" Realization dawned on him. He took a step closer to Luna. "These Thestrals. They're invisible, aren't they?"

"They are not truly invisible like wrackspurts or demiguises. Thestrals can be seen by anyone—" Luna lifted her hand and began patting thin air. "—but only after they have seen death and accepted it."

Tentatively, Harry waved his hand in front of him until he touched something. His senses were telling him different things: his eyes found nothing yet his hand had made contact with the strange, leathery skin. He thought he felt hair, perhaps the creature's mane, brushed his hand. "This is so weird."

Luna, with surprising strength, yanked him back. There was a great ruffling sound, a sudden blast of wind, and a strange, echoing shriek. Luna giggled slightly as Harry climbed back to his feet. "What just happened?"

"You tickled him. Thestrals are very ticklish behind their wings, you know." Luna answered, a mischievous smile appearing on her face. Harry wondered if perhaps she discovered that first-hand. Before he could ask however Luna turned and walked toward the trees. "There's the sick Thestral, I think—Tiffany, isn't it?"

Until now Harry hadn't thought about how to administrate the potion, and he suddenly realized he had no idea how to do it, nor did Hagrid give him any instructions. Nor the possibility that he couldn't see Thestrals, for that matter. He pulled out the potion bottle.

"Umm, Luna? I'm wondering if you can give this to her." She took the bottle and held it out toward thin air. Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "No, I mean, feed her the potion. Since I can't see her, or the others, at all."

The blonde nodded and began fishing in her satchel. Upon withdrawing a small piece of meat she unplugged the bottle and poured the potion over it. She pulled her wand from behind her ear and with a soft whispered _Wingardium Leviosa _the chunk of meat floated wobbly toward its target. After hovering in the air for a few seconds the meat vanished into thin air, and Luna put her wand away. "Done."

"Thanks Luna, I owe you one." Harry said gratefully. He didn't know what he'd have done if the girl wasn't here to help.

She simply shrugged. "Don't mention it. But you should tell Mr. Hagrid that he should make pellets instead. The Thestral didn't like the potion. Too greasy, I think."

Harry raised an eyebrow. Was this a jab about their Potions professor? "I think Hagrid knows what he's doing."

"The others in my House don't like him very much, actually. A lot of them think he's turning Care into a joke."

"What?" Harry was indignant. "Hagrid may not be brilliant, I'll grant you that, but he knows his stuff. Just because you 'Claws didn't appreciate getting their hands dirty—"

"That's not what I'm saying, Harry Potter." Her voice was suddenly a lot less dreamy. "I have Care and from what I've seen in class, he knows the subject but isn't very good in teaching it."

"You know what, forget it," He said, folding his arms. The two stood side by side for a few minutes until Harry broke the silence.

"So what were you doing there? Just visiting the Thestrals?"

"Yes. They're very clever, really. I like to talk to them. It's like having friends."

"Umm…" What could Harry say under the circumstances?

"Ginevra and I were sorted into different Houses at Hogwarts, and didn't have classes together. We hardly ever talked in our first year, and by our second she had made new friends."

Harry grimaced, recalling the events surrounding the Diary and the Chamber of Secrets. Aloud he said, "What about the others in your year? And your Housemates?"

"They think I'm a bit odd, you know. Some people called me 'Loony' Lovegood, actually."

This struck far too close to home for Harry; memories of years past, of boys' harsh words and harsher actions, flashed across his mind. He fought to keep his voice even. "It's not right."

She simply shrugged. "I don't mind. Besides, I am glad I'm different. Normalcy is overrated, anyway."

Harry had to smile to that. "I better head back. Are you coming?"

Luna shook her head. "It's alright, but thank you anyway."

The return trip was uneventful, something Harry was grateful for as this marked one of the safest trips he had ever taken into the Forbidden Forest. He was thinking of Luna's advice regarding potions and pellets, and debated the possibility of creating pills like Muggle medicine, when he noticed someone coming down the path from Hagrid's hut. It was someone he'd been avoiding all day, in hopes that he could find some way to resolve the problem amicably, though now it seemed his efforts were in vain.

"Hello Hermione." He greeted the bushy-haired girl in front of him. Her expression was unreadable, but the wringing of her hands betrayed her emotions. Harry sighed.

"I guess we need to talk."

A/N-1: Events in this chapter take place on November 1st, 1994.


	19. Confrontations

Disclaimer: I do not own Poppy Pomfrey. (No one owns Poppy Pomfrey. She's a BOSS.)

Chapter-19: Confrontations

_Harry,_

_Sorry about the belated reply. We were on a 'business trip' for the past few days. The mutt is doing much better and sends his love._

_Yes, we both caught that piece on the Tournament in the _Prophet_, but the picture it painted was woefully incomplete. The mutt had half a mind to come to Scotland, and might have done so if not for your and Dumbledore's letters. The Headmaster is reluctant to share details, but assured us that he will keep us informed of the investigations through Minerva. And while __I know you don't like him and __he is admittedly eccentric, Moody is also staunchly opposed to Voldemort. Work with him even if you don't like him._

_I have to say this and the mutt agrees with me: do NOT go gallivanting around, looking to solve this like you did last year. Let Dumbledore handle this._

_Onto other topics. I understand your frustration, but the truth is, incorporating Transfiguration into duelling is exceptionally difficult. While it is certainly true that this branch of magic __can be__ useful in combat, any use of it beyond the most elementary (conjuration of fire, etc.) also demands a lot of the user. It also has some glaring weaknesses. One, it takes time to transfigure an object for offensive use__: the time it takes to complete one complex transfiguration __can be used to cast several curses. Two, likewise, it requires a lot of concentration and control to use Transfiguration in battle effectively. Three, Transfigured objects are physical attacks, and can be easily repelled by competent wizards. Most only __ever __use these for diversionary or defensive purposes__._

_Frankly, I doubt there are more than a dozen people on the British Isles right now that can use Transfiguration in duelling to the extent you __described__. __Perhaps you should discuss this with Professor Flitwick: he is a former duelling champion, after all._

_As for casting your spells faster, the best way to do so at your stage is to learn silent casting. Yes, I know that Hogwarts does not teach this until sixth-year, but I think you can do it. There was an excellent book, Adalbert Waffling's __Magical Theory__, which helped your father learned to do magic silently by the middle of his fifth year; you may want to look it up._

_I have only read of spell-chains in passing, so I'm afraid I cannot help you in that regard._

_I am glad that you haven't lost interest in Defence despite your __issues with Moody, although to be honest I am a bit surprised that he was willing to take the post at all; from what the Headmaster told me he didn't agree to taking the position until a few days before term began._

_Madam Puddifoot's offers a more romantic setting, while the Three Broomsticks is more casual. The latter is a better choice if you want to play it safe. _

_As for your other problem—_

Harry sighed and put down Remus' letter, next to the copy of Magical Theory (Third Edition) he had taken out from the library. The missive from his former professor had arrived on Monday, far too late for that last bit of advice to be of use. He picked up his wand, and concentrating very hard tried to will the quill to float. His focus was broken by a shout from the doorway.

"Potter! Aren't you brewing Pepper-Up Potions?" Adrian Pucey, the Slytherin sixth-year that was Harry's partner for the day, took a look at the boiling cauldron and bellowed in alarm. "The water's boiling! Have you added the Mandrake root yet?"

"Oh bugger." Harry cursed under his breath. Hastily he threw the cut-up mandrake root into the brew, and the Pepper-Up Potion changed color, though it was not as brightly orange as it was supposed to be. To his relief, the mistake was easily rectified: Harry simply poked his wand at the fire and set it blazing for a while. He counted himself fortunate that the mishap happened at a less important point of his brew. Had it occurred during a more important juncture—say the next step, which was the addition of bicorn horn powder—the potion would be completely ruined. Not taking his chances, he placed a Timer Charm on the cauldron and set it to fifteen minutes.

Seeing that things should be fine for a while, he sat down again. He gave the piece of parchment a weary look before stuffing it into his bag. Outside the window the sun was setting, its last rays illuminating the grounds. The weather was great, chilly but better than one would expect at the verge of winter. A number of students were returning from the grounds, many of them in pairs, probably couples that had been getting their backs grassy.He could so easily have been among them; part of him still wondered whether he was really making the right choice, choosing to preserve a friendship over pursuing something more. It had been nearly two weeks since his talk with—

"_Hermione." Harry sighed, feeling both wary and nervous. "I guess we need to talk."_

_She nodded__ her agreement__, and side by side they walked down the path toward the lake. _

_After a rather awkward minute Hermione broke the silence. "Hagrid said you were helping him on something."_

"_Tiffany the Thestral, yes," Harry __said__, quickly latching onto the seemingly safe subject. _

"_Oh?" The witch's curiosity was piqued. "What do these Thestrals look like?"_

_Harry shrugged apologetically. "I have no idea; I can't see them. They can only be seen by people who have seen death, or so I'm told."_

_Hermione blinked in surprise. "You can't?" _

"_Like I said—"_

"_You have to have seen death, yes, but I thought you may be able to because of… well, first year." Her voice faltered a bit at the end, and Harry understood quickly._

"_Quirrell." He said, and she nodded. "I didn't really see him die, I kind of blacked out when tussling with him."_

"_Oh." Her eyes softening, Hermione took Harry's hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. "I'm sorry I brought it up, Harry."_

"_It's okay." Replied Harry. He looked down at their linked hands. He had hoped to delay this, so that he could get some words of advice from Sirius and Remus before this, but it seemed his hand was forced. He must do this now._

"_Hermione," he began, turning so that they were now facing each other. She looked up with her brown eyes, bright and hopeful, and Harry couldn't bear it; he had to look away. "What happened this morning, I… I didn't know you feel this way. About me, I mean."_

"_Now you do." She said, her face turning slightly pink, though whether it was a blush forming or the cool breeze he couldn't tell._

"_Yeah, well, but," Harry ran his free hand through his hair. "Why me? I mean, I'm just—"_

"_Just Harry, I know." A half-smile formed on Hermione's lips, and Harry was reminded of the taste of strawberries. "Just Harry, who went off to save a little girl from a troll even though he couldn't stand her, and befriended her shortly after. Just Harry, who is a natural at flying and enjoys every second of it. Just Harry, who stopped a Dark Lord's return to power. Just Harry, who is lousy at chess but plays it because his best friend is so good at it and he wants his friend to be happy. Just Harry, who looked for acromantula in the Forbidden Forest and slain basilisks in secret underground chambers. Just Harry, who still has atrocious handwriting even after all these years."_

"_Hey!" Harry exclaimed, indignant, but Hermione placed a finger over his mouth, silencing him immediately._

"_Just Harry, whose greatest fear is fear itself. Just Harry, who won his first Quidditch Cup after three years. Just Harry, who fought off a hundred Dementors to save his godfather. Just Harry, who studies Potions harder than ever, even though he loathes the professor, because he wants to become a Healer and help people. Just Harry, a scrawny boy with green eyes, who perseveres despite everything the world throws at him. Just Harry, the boy I kissed this morning." She murmured, her face inches from his, and shifted her hand so that it now cupped his cheek. __There was a breathless quality in her voice that was strangely seductive, and he could practically smell the strawberry flavour on her lips. __"Just Harry, who I'm in love with…"_

_She was so close now, so very close, and Harry could see that she was growing into a pretty, if not exactly beautiful, young woman. And she had just poured her heart out to him. And he did like her, and care for her. It would be so easy—all he needed to do was close his eyes and lean in and kiss her and she would be his—_

"_No__." He __took a step back,__ and she blinked at him__, surprised__. He look__ed__ down at their linked hands. He had to say it, to put a stop to it now, because it would only hurt her that much more if he didn't. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry Hermione._

"_I'm sorry. But I don't love you."_

Ignoring the chiming sound of the Timer Charm, Harry concentrated on stirring the simmering concoction—four times clockwise and three times counter-clockwise for twenty rounds, for a total of one hundred and forty strokes—while the powdered bicorn horn was sprinkled into the cauldron. The Pepper-Up turned a dangerous crimson for a moment, but Harry was unconcerned; in about five minutes the potion would return to its usual orange color, indicating that it had stabilized enough for bottling. In the mean time, Harry decided that he could really use a break. Sniffing the air, he thought he caught the aroma of coffee, and grinned.

Over the summer, while Harry studied under Madam Pomfrey, the matron introduced the young wizard to coffee after witnessing him struggle through a lesson in a stupor (Harry worked till three that morning on a five-foot essay, discussing the symbolic magic conveyed onto an important date, such as the solstice, by Arithmancy). He found himself liking the strong-flavoured beverage, and while he wouldn't admit to being an addict, he had taken to start each day with a cup of steaming coffee, and sometimes a second cup in the afternoon if he needed an extra jolt. Which, he mused, he totally deserved after his hard work.

That Madam Pomfrey happened to have her own private stock of premium Columbian coffee beans was, of course, a complete coincidence.

The school nurse was in her office taking a fire-call, leaving the Healer trainees to watch over the hospital wing; Harry opted to work in the potions lab while Pucey dealt with visitors. He was tending to a tiny firstie Harry recognized as Nigel Wespurt, a Gryffindor who was rather well-known for sharing Colin Creevey's passion for photography. The boy had a nasty-looking bruise mark on his forehead; Harry suspected that the extraordinarily clumsy boy tripped on something again. He was about to duck into the storage room but Nigel spotted him.

"Wotcher, Harry!" The boy said cheerfully. His grin quickly turned into a grimace however, as Pucey rubbed healing salve onto his forehead: the anti-bruise salve was very effective, but also stung mightily during those first minutes of application.

Had it been anyone else, Harry would merely nod in acknowledgment before retreating to the storage room. But he remembered Nigel sitting next to Katie Bell that night, showing support for the unwillingly-entered Triwizard champion, even though Harry hardly knew the younger boy at all; the least he could do was show some courtesy.

"Hi Nigel. What happened to you?" He paused before adding, "This time?"

"Tripped by a suit of armour. At least Colin's camera is okay." The younger boy shrugged, gesturing to the muggle device hanging from his neck.

"Why did you have Colin's camera?" Harry asked.

Nigel grinned, sticking out his chest proudly. "I'm now Colin's assistant for the _Headliner_. Hermione Granger interviewed some Beauxbatons students earlier today and I took pictures. Do you know she speaks fluent French? She's brilliant!"

"Err," Harry found himself staring into his mug, momentarily flustered at the mention of her name. "I mean, yes she is. Brilliant."

_The world seemed to have stopped for all but the two of them. Even the wind died down and the trees stopped rustling, though the cold remained, biting at their exposed faces. And yet Harry was certain that wasn't the cause of Hermione's sudden paleness or quivering lips. A mixture of shock, fear and hurt invaded her eyes as his words sank in. Harry braced himself for the questions he knew were coming._

"_Is it Bones?"_

"_Sue?" Harry knew that Susan fancied him, and he wasn't sure exactly where he's going with the Hufflepuff girl himself, but she wasn't the reason he was spurning Hermione. He shook his head. "I like her well enough, but no, it has nothing to do with her."_

"_But you're going to Hogsmeade with her. On a date, no less." A hint of bitterness entered her voice._

"_Just as friends. And it wasn't my idea in the first place. And it was planned ages ago." Harry countered._

_She flushed a dark red before turning away. "Why? Why can't it be me, then?"_

_It was a side of her Harry had never seen before: anger, jealousy, and desire for him. It was at once disturbing, heartening, and thrilling. And the truth was, there were so many reasons he could've fallen for her._

_But love did not work like that._

"_Hermione… I'm flattered, really. And I do like you; you are my best friend. Please don't take this the wrong way, but the thing is, I see you as a very dear friend—like the sister I never have, in fact—and nothing more."_

"_A very dear friend." She echoed, her expression unreadable. "A _sister_."_

_He took her hands in his and squeezed them gently. Hermione looked up, her brown eyes glistening, her lips trying to form a smile but failing. She pulled her hands out of his grip and turned her back on him. "I don't want to be just your friend or your sister."_

"_I'm sorry." What else could he possibly say?_

_She ran a hand across her face. "Give me some time, Harry." Hermione said in a constricted voice. "I need some time alone. Please?"_

_For one brief moment, he wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms, to wipe away her tears and sooth her with kind words, but he couldn't—because he'd be doing the right things for the wrong reasons, and it would only hurt them both all the more._

"_Of course." He said at last. "I'll… I'll see you later, Hermione."_

_With one last look at her shaking shoulders, he turned resolutely away and headed back to the castle. He couldn't help thinking that he might have just made a terrible mistake, wondering—_knowing_—that things between the two of them would never be the same again._

Harry took a deep breath and began casting as quickly as he could. A Vanishing Charm emptied the cauldron of all residues. A single _Pack_ put the utensils away. A series of Banishers sent the bicorn horn, the mandrake root and the other leftover ingredients back to the cupboard. A dozen sealing charms had the potion bottles airtight and with one final, fluidic movement he cast two Summoning Charms, stacking the dozen vials of freshly-brewed Pepper-Up neatly in a box and bringing the Magical Theory to him. He couldn't help cheering up a little as the book smacked into his outreached hand; while the spells were nothing amazing or spectacular, doing magic was a joy unto itself. Shouldering his school bag, he picked up the box of potions and left for Madam Pomfrey's office.

Flames, no longer the bright green of floo-fire, crackled merrily in the fireplace while the nurse sat at her desk, amidst stacks of receipts, catalogues, scrolls and notes. She had been busy with the paperwork all day, filling order forms for potions, ingredients and the like for the next school term. Harry knocked on the door before entering. "Madam Pomfrey? I'm done."

The matron nodded as Harry put the box of Pepper-Up on her table. She picked one out and examined the potion for a moment. "The coloration is a bit off but otherwise this is exemplary work: in an academic setting I'd score it an Exceeds Expectations. Correct those little mistakes and you can improve to an Outstanding. Well done, Harry—you've come a long way."

"Thank you." He said with a smile, but Madam Pomfrey did not return it.

"On the other hand, I have to tell you that as much as I'd like to, I won't be supervising the rest of your detentions. The Headmaster is most insistent that you serve them with Professor Moody." The nurse scowled, not at him but _for _him. "Even though you should never have gotten them in the first place."

Harry snorted. "Tell me about it."

_Harry entered the Great Hall to find it nearly deserted, __but __it was __not exactly__ surprising__ given the time__. Dinner was almost over and most had returned to the common rooms, __although there were __a few students milling about.__ At the Ravenclaw table a Slytherin and a Beauxbatons student were just beginning a game of wizard chess. Harry thought he caught glimpses of gold and silver and wondered if some of the spectators were betting on the outcome. Over at the next table, s__everal Hufflepuffs were talking over desserts. One boy, whom Harry recognized as Wayne Hopkins, gave Harry a thoroughly unpleasant glare before muttering to his cohorts in a low tone; Harry scowled back in turn. _

_He had hoped that Dumbledore's speech on his behalf would nip in the bud any resentment the Hufflepuffs might felt toward him for "stealing the glory" of their champion, Cedric Diggory. What he did not expect was that they saw it as yet more proof of preferential treatment for the headmaster toward his favourite pupil—that Dumbledore not only turned a blind eye toward Harry's cheating, but was even now covering for him. _

_The Lion House as a whole suffered as well. The normally amicable Badgers turned remarkably cold toward them after Harry's friends declared openly their belief in his innocence. Harry suspected that, given his less-than-friendly relationship with the House of Snakes, someone might be manipulating things against him from the shadows._

_Then there was the reaction of two particular Hufflepuffs. The fact that Cedric Diggory hadn't made any attempt at reconciliation wasn't lost to him. In fact, Harry had begun to wonder if he had made a mistake considering the other boy a friend in the first place. And then there was his _other_ girl problem._

_Susan._

_The two of them hadn't spoken for days, ever since his name came out of the Goblet of Fire. At first he wondered if she, too, thought he had cheated his way into the Tournament, but that idea went out the window when he saw her in Herbology class that Monday morning. She was utterly miserable and, with Padma Patil's help, Harry found out why: she caught a lot of heat from her housemates after she tried to defend Harry in the Hufflepuff common room. His heart went out to her while at the same time his annoyance with the Badger house grew._

_Harry pushed all that out of his mind however, when he reached the Gryffindor table and found two familiar faces doing something quite out of character._

"_Hey guys." Harry drew his wand and cast a diagnostic charm first on Ron, then Neville. "That's strange."_

"_What is it?" Ron asked, looking up from the parchment in front of him. __"Is something wrong?"_

"_I'm still trying to figure it out." Harry glanced at Ron, who had the opened__ The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection__ in front of him and was obviously working on his DADA essay, then at Neville, who was cramming kidney pie into his mouth. His lips twitched into a smile. "You see, it's not every day I see you doing homework without prompting, or Neville doing a passable imitation of you at the dinner table."_

_Ron snorted. "I have Quidditch practice in twenty minutes, and Angelina won't let us go till ten thirty." He grumbled. "Bloody slave-driver, she is."_

"_Someone should check with Puddlemere United. Oliver Wood must've died and possessed her." Harry said dryly. He turned to Neville. "And what's your excuse?"_

_Neville, having finally swallowed his mouthful of food, spoke up.__"These are the end times, Harry. Deal with it." _

_Harry simply shook his head in amusement, and began piling mashed potatoes onto his plate. Ron scratched his chin absently. "Hey mate, you're good at this. Name three or more differences between the blasting spells _Confringo _and _Expulso_."_

_Harry rolled his eyes but took pity on his friend. "The _Confringo_: an area spell, causes its target to explode in flames, and generally more powerful. The _Expulso_: blows up target object, doesn't, and can be scaled down to act as a Banishing Charm."_

"_Harry! I need three inches for that!"_

_He smirked. "That's three differences you want. _You _turn it into three inches." Ron stuck his tongue out at him, but Harry ignored him and poured himself a cup of chilled prune juice. He and Neville talked Quidditch and other things for a few minutes until the blond boy said, in a strangely serious voice, "Mind if I ask you something, Harry?" _

_Harry raised an eyebrow. "Of course."_

"_Hermione was eating with the third years instead of with us. She's been doing that quite often lately." Neville said. "You wouldn't happen to know what's going on, would you?"_

_Harry grunted. He too had noticed Hermione's absence—how could you not, when one of your closest friends was avoiding you? "Business with the _Headliner_, I suppose."_

"_She sat with Ginny, not Colin."_

"_Maybe she wants to recruit her for the paper?"_

"_She refused to look our way."_

"_I blame it entirely on Ron. You know how she's always nagging him for his table manners. It must have pushed her over the edge at last." Harry suggested._

"_Oy!" Ron looked up, annoyed. Neville rolled his eyes._

"_And the other night when she did sit with us, _you_ weren't."_

"_Hospital wing. One of the volunteers needed time off, so I offered." Harry explained. "There's nothing going on, Neville."_

_The blond boy gave him a pointed look. "Right, sure." He said at a last._

_Harry glanced at Neville curiously. Something was going on, yes, but he didn't expect anyone to notice this, least of all Neville. Was he always so observant? It was as if this was a different Neville from the previous years. Ron's friendship must have really opened up the timid boy, he decided. Which reminded him—"You should get going or you're going to be late, Ron."_

"_Merlin's balls!" Ron swore, dumping his unfinished assignment into his bag and rushed off._

_The remaining two boys exchanged a smile. Harry finished his drink and gestured to Neville. "Let's go."_

_The two of them departed for Gryffindor Tower, walking past a fidgeting Hannah Abbott. She knocked her bag off the bench when the boys walked by, but Harry simply walked around the mess and ignored the Hufflepuff girl. She looked slightly panicked for some reason; Neville sent a backward glance at her but followed Harry out of the Great Hall._

"_What was that about?" He asked Harry as they began climbing the main staircase._

"_Nothing." Harry answered testily. They turned on the third landing for a shortcut to the tower. Neville, clearly not satisfied with Harry's answer, opened his mouth—and promptly dropped to the floor._

"_What—" Harry caught a flash of red at the corner of his eye. Even with his reflexes he couldn't d__uck out of the way__ in time, and he was forced to use his school bag as a makeshift shield. He staggered under the force, but the move__ n__onetheless __bought him precious seconds, allowing him to draw his wand and cast a shield just in time as multiple Stunners arrived. The combined force nearly, but couldn't shatter the defensive barrier, although Harry knew it was only a matter of time; his battered shield wouldn't survive another onslaught like this. A swish of his wand and the shield disappeared, as Harry quickly contemplated his next move. The Stunners had come from two directions—_

"Homenum Revelio_!" Like a radar, a wave of magic swooped over the surrounding area. A counter appeared in the back of Harry's mind. One, two, three… seven. "Oh bugger." _

_Had things been otherwise, he would have congratulated himself for his foresight. In this case however, he simply got ready to curse. There were seven people in his vicinity; excluding the (presumably) Stunned Neville that would give him six assailants. The odds were not in his favour._

_Spells were sent flying his way again, but Harry did not strike back, instead focusing on a Banishing Charm that pushed Neville away from the crossfire. He dodged the spells as best as he could, but one of them grazed his left shoulder and tore off a strip of his robe. Harry recognized it as a Severing Charm and while not a combat spell, it could still cut flesh and could have seriously injured him. He seethed._

"_Who the hell are you?" Harry shouted, but got no response. He thought they were male, but between their muffled voices, oversized robes, gloves, shrouded hoods and charmed-to-black ties, it was hard to be certain; they had ensured he could not identify them easily._

"Densaugeo_! _Expelliarmus_! _Everte Statum_!" Harry roared, hoping to force an answer with a volley of spells. His mind was racing. His opponents were prepared, organized, had superior numbers, and given their height, were possibly senior students. Did he really have a chance to win?_

_Did he have to win?_

_There was a portrait about twenty yards back the way he came. If he reached it, he could get it to call for help, and his assailants just might be forced to escape—but could they have anticipated that as well? They had chosen this section of the castle, a shortcut to Gryffindor Tower and relatively clear of portraits, for their ambush. They knew he would use it and that, given the hours, it was unlikely others would happen upon them by chance. _

_And even if he did call for help, it would be some time before anyone could arrive at the scene. They could still curse him senseless before making their getaway. Last but not the least there was Neville: Harry knew he was the target, but could he run off and leave his friend behind with these people? Would they take it out on Neville if Harry managed to get away? Dare he risk it?_

_A wave of spells from his attackers clinched his decision._

_No. He couldn't._

_A chill went down his spine. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. The corners of his mouth lifted, turning his gritted teeth into a feral grin. It was strange… for he wasn't afraid at all. He would stand his ground and fight, whoever these people were._

_Because sometimes, a man just had to do it, despite the impossible odds._

_Iit's not like he hadn't done that before._

"Hey Alicia, Lee." Harry said wearily, looking the pair of sixth-year students up and down. Madam Pomfrey had dismissed the trainees for the night and he was just getting ready to go when the Gryffindors wandered in. He drew his wand. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Lee rolled his eyes. "You know exactly what we're here for, Harry."

"Since we're the prefects you're most familiar with, we've been given the unenviable task of walking you home." Alicia said, eyeing the phoenix-and-holly wand apprehensively. Harry groaned.

"Is this really necessary? I'm not going to get lost and found my way into the Slytherin dorms, you know." He complained.

"We know you can handle yourself." Alicia said in a pacifying tone.

"We're here not to keep you safe from the idiots. We're here to keep the idiots from you, before you put them in the hospital wing." Lee explained. After a pause he added, "_More_ of them, I mean."

Harry sighed. "Let's go."

_A flash at the periphery of his vision alerted him of an incoming Trip Jinx, but he batted it back the way it came. There was a surprised gasp as one of his attackers stumbled, but before he could take advantage of it two of his opponents combined for a barrage of jinxes that forced Harry into a defensive position. Harry raised his shield for a second, angled in such a way that most of the spells were deflected instead of blocked, so as to conserve strength. His tripped opponent got back to his feet and rejoined the fight._

_Harry had to revise his some of his earlier assertions. The first was that individually, his assailants were fairly competent duellists; he drew that conclusion through their spell repertoire. The second was that while his opponents worked together, they did not work together _well_. While these observations shed light on the identity of his attackers and from that, a possible motive for their attack, it was the third assertion that was the most important: they were trying to duel him, instead of fight him. _

_As much as he hated to admit it, Moody was right about one thing: Harry was really good at fighting, especially in an unlimited, 'anything that goes' setting. And that was what fighting was like in real life, anything could be used, there were no rules, unlike duelling. That fundamental difference would be his key to victory._

_But first he needed to channel the Weasley twins and create some chaos. "_Avis_! _Avis_!_ Avis_! _Avis_!"_

_One of the biggest disadvantages Harry faced was that he was fighting six people at once. He had to divide before he could conquer, and to divide he needed to distract some of his attackers. The two-dozen-strong flock of tiny red birds bursting from his wand was meant to do that, and while several of them were immediately struck down by stray spells, the rest scattered and zoomed off at Harry's command. The flock dived at the closest of his opponents, who began to cast a wide-area Banishing Charm, but at the last minute the birds changed directions and attacked the others instead. Caught casting a now-useless spell, the boy couldn't react in time as Harry blasted a Stunner directly into his chest, and the boy crumpled to the floor in a heap. _

_The rest of his opponents finally managed to Vanish Harry's squad of angry birds, but they were too late to help their fallen ally. Sidestepping a Jelly-Legs Jinx Harry bellowed, "_Incarcerous_! _Mobilicorpus_!"_

_The first spell created ropes that wrapped around his Stunned opponent; he was swiftly bounded from head to toe. The second sent the bound body flying straight into another assailant, knocking the breath out of him. With a well-aimed Summoner and Disarmer apiece Harry relieved the two of their wands. A Body-Bind Curse was thrown at him, but Harry swung his wand like a Beater's bat and redirected it into his wandless opponent, who landed on the floor rigid as a board. Harry's spirit soared; he had successfully taken out two of his six attackers. _

_Reinvigorated, he turned his wand at the one who was nearly undone by the rebounded tripping jinx, sensing that he might be the weakest link in the remaining quartet. His opponents had regrouped however, and with less strayed spells flying they were actually more focused. Harry quickly realized that when one of them landed a dark-blue curse on his left leg—a Bone-Breaking Curse. He hissed in pain as bones shattered, but wasted no time as he turned his stumble into a dive, moving out of the way of two converging curses. They collided and exploded into a million brilliant violet sparks over him. _

"Ossio Emendo_." Harry said through clenched teeth. Immediately he could feel the bones setting and mending, although it would still be a few vital seconds away before they healed enough to support his weight. His four attackers, sensing weakness, sought to capitalize on his immobility: Harry barely finished incanting the Shielding Charm before the first curse slammed into his magical barrier. They were not taking chances, he realized, as his attackers pinned him down and began breaking through his defence with pure, overwhelming firepower. It was time to pull something else out of his sleeve. _

"Defodio_! _Defodio_! _Accio_ debris!" The pair of Gouging Spells did their jobs, removing some of the stones and mortar from the wall he targeted. As debris flew toward him he focused hard, visualizing the trajectory he intended for them. "_Depulso_!"_

_People often forgot that the Banishing Charm wasn't merely the opposite, but also an equal of a Summoning Charm. A well-cast Summoner had enough precision that it could take a vial of potions out of the cupboard without knocking another one over. Similarly, a well-cast Banisher could be used to send an object around obstacles—in this case, stone and mortar around Harry's shield. His opponent never saw it coming as the piece of debris slammed into his back. He dropped to the floor and did not get up again._

_The briefest of distractions among his opponents allowed Harry, leg newly fixed, to move from his vulnerable position. Utilizing his trademark Disarming Spell again Harry obtained a third wand from his opponents; three down, three to go._

_And that was when everything went black._

Alicia and Lee's wands appeared in their hands as if conjured, but Harry was even faster and his wand was already raised. The boy's hands shot up quickly.

"By Salazar, Potter! It's me!" Adrian Pucey said, looking genuinely scared.

"You shouldn't try to sneak up on us like that, Pucey." Harry huffed and pocketed his wand, but Alicia and Lee did not let their guard down.

"I did not!" The Slytherin protested. "I'm just good with walking quietly."

"What do you want, Snake?" Lee said frostily.

Pucey narrowed his eyes at the Gryffindor senior, but collected himself. "I just want a word with Potter."

"Make it quick." Alicia ordered, looking up and down the corridor. Pucey nodded and turned to Harry.

"Listen, I know it's hard to believe, but there are some of us in Slytherin who don't hate your guts." Despite Harry's snort he continued. "Well yes, you are a Gryffindor _and_ Dumbledore's favourite _and_ the Boy-who-lived _and_ seeker on our rival Quidditch team, but all that only makes people dislike you. It's Malfoy and his people who're stirring things up and turned it into hatred."

Harry could see the sincerity in Pucey's eyes, and after working with the Slytherin for two months both in the hospital wing and on the Quidditch field he thought of the other boy as a friend, not just an acquaintance. His thoughts were also drawn to the Greengrass sisters, Daphne quiet and determined and Astoria bubbly and cheerful, both as passionate about Quidditch as he was.

"I know, but you have to admit, aside from you, Astoria and her sister I don't know any 'good' Slytherins. I think you're the exception rather than the norm." Harry said.

Pucey sighed. "There're more of us than you think—we just don't want to speak out and make ourselves targets in our own house. Look, I'm not defending Malfoy's actions. I'm just asking that please, _please_ don't view every Slytherin as Dark-wizard-in-training and don't insult and make an enemy out of our entire house. That'll only push more people to Malfoy's side, and it is the last thing you want."

"I… understand." Harry nodded after a moment. "Thank you, Adrian."

Pucey looked slightly taken aback, but pleased at the Gryffindor's use of his given name. "You're welcome, Harry." He paused before adding with a small smile, "By the way, good job. You really did a number on them."

Anger flashed in Harry's eyes. "Believe me when I say, that they deserved every bit of it."

_Harry leaped into action, or sideways in this case, before the shock sank in. Everything's gone dark! He couldn't see a thing! What spell was he hit with? Harry's senses tingled and he ducked again; he could have sworn that a spell just past him by. The smell of ozone told him that it was likely a fire-type curse. He had been hit by some kind of blinding curse! He only knew for certain that it wasn't a Conjunctivitis Curse, since despite his blindness he wasn't exactly in pain. But more importantly, how was he going to fight? _

_Oh, of course. _

"LumosSolem_!"_

_The Solar-Flare Charm couldn't help him regain his vision, but it levelled the playing field somewhat by robbing his opponents of theirs. Judging from the sound of their howls, it worked. Judging from the continued incantations however, they had decided to keep attacking. A random thought entered Harry's mind, as he wondered what a _sight_ it must be to see four blinded wizards do battle. He was snapped out of his musing in a painful fashion, courtesy of a Cutting Curse across his back. _

_As he dropped to his knee in pain Harry berated himself: when did they flank him? Or had he turned around by accident and exposed himself? Why had he let his guard down, even for a second? He stopped himself from continuing further, for now was not the time to analyze his mistakes. It's time for action. "_AquaEructo_!"_

_For water conjuration most would use the more common spell _Aguamenti_. In this case, however, the Water-raising Charm _Aqua Eructo_ was more suitable to Harry's purpose, for the water it created could be controlled by the caster's will. As he was blinded for the time being, he had to aim not with his eyes but with his mind, his intent. Channelling everything he had he focused on a single thought._

_Enemies of Harry Potter, begone!_

_As if acting of its own accord Harry's wand rose, dragging his arm along for the ride. Harry felt a pressure on his arm and sensed moisture on his face, as water poured out of his wand like a water cannon. There was a yelp and a heavy thud, and Harry knew that one more of his opponents had been defeated. Swinging his wand he tried to turn the torrent of water against his remaining foes, but hit neither. What's more, they had begun their counterattack, using the water Harry conjured no less, with the twin screams of, "_Glacius_!"_

_From the sound of their voices Harry could tell that they were on opposite sides of him. They might also not have regained their sight yet, because instead of outright cursing him they were employing the Water-Freezing Charm—a wide-range spell—in order to turn Harry's magic against himself. Nonetheless, the new offensive was very effective. Harry dispelled his water cannon but at this rate, he could very soon be frozen by the water-turned-ice he conjured. Something came to mind, a spell that Hermione used on him last year during that game in the storm, when he lost his faithful Nimbus. Turning his wand on himself he roared, "_Impervius_!" and rushed at one of his opponents. _

_He could only guessed at his target's position, based on the sound of his spell and the direction the wave of freezing magic was travelling in. Water splashed and ice formed but neither touched him as his hastily cast Impervius Charm held. There was a sharp pain in his left eye and on that side of his face, as his opponent reacted with a curse that blew off Harry's glasses and sliced open his cheek, but it did not impede his charge. With a beastly snarl he jumped and took down his opponent in a flying tackle. They crashed into the floor with Harry on top, and while a part of him registered his quarry's body as distinctively female he did not let up. He raised his fist and, despite the pain from all over his body, pounded on her with all he had._

_Harry had never been a violent boy __and usually chose flight over fight given the chance. Nonetheless, he knew how to handle himself in fistfights—y__ears of unwilling participation in Dudley's Harry Hunting games saw to that. Slamming down hard he felt a satisfying crunch beneath his fist, and the girl whimpered piteously, her nose messily broken. He reached for her wand but before he could snatch it, he was blasted off the fallen witch by a Bludgeoning Curse, courtesy of his last standing foe. He willed himself to get up, but his body couldn't obey._

_He was about to be defeated._

_He _refused_ to be defeated._

"Carpe Retractum_." Harry croaked and pointed his wand in what he hoped was the witch's direction; a choked 'oof' indicated that the magical ropes he conjured hit its mark. He yanked his wand hard and dragged the bound girl in front of him. The girl suddenly shrieked, and his last opponent screamed in horror. In the back of his mind Harry realized that she had taken a curse for him, and wondered how badly she'd been hurt. On the forefront, however, he concentrated on the horrified cry so that he could aim his next, last spell: "_…stupefy_."_

_Dimly he registered a thud in the distance. He had defeated his last enemy. _

_The next thing he knew, he was face down on the floor. His back felt like it's been lit on fire, his cheek was caked with blood, and his shoulder, his arms—or more accurately, everything—hurt. He needed Madam Pomfrey… the others too, and Neville… everything hurt so bad… _

"_What's going—by Morgana it's—"_

…_He couldn't fight anymore…_

"_Oh my gods—"_

"_Quick! Someone get Madam Pomfrey!"_

"_Don't be an idiot! We'll take them to the hospital wing now! _Mobilicorpus_!"_

…_He felt his wand slipping from his hand… _

"_Easy now… I got you, Potter…"_

_...There was light again, he could see again… he looked up…_

…_Then everything faded to black once more._

A/N: Events in this chapter take place between November 1st and 12th, 1994. The framing scenes are set on Thursday Nov 12th, the flashbacks with Hermione are on Sunday Nov 1st, and the ambush takes place on Wednesday Nov 4th.


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